Abnormally Attracted to Sin
by PersephonesNauticalNun
Summary: She may be dead to you, but her hips sway a natural kind of faith that could give your lost heart a warm chapel. You'll sleep in her bell tower and you will simply awake... abnormally attracted to sin.
1. Prologue

**Author's Notes**

_So, when I first wrote this, I had a Skins fanfic in mind. But then I read over it and decided that I really liked it, and could tweak it, and put it into the novel I'm working on. Except then I read it again recently and decided it really did scream Naomi and Emily, so I decided to just give the whole Skins fandom a go. This is a first for me, very unprecedented, since I honestly have no idea where this is going. I always know where my fics are going. Yay, time for an adventure!_

**Disclaimer**

_I do not own Naomi, Emily, or any other Skins characters that may or may not appear in this story. The title is taken from the Tori Amos song / album "Abnormally Attracted to Sin," whose title was taken from a line in a play, so I'm not entirely sure where all that credit falls. The songs discussed are "Abnormally Attracted to Sin" and "Give" respectively, both by Tori Amos._

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Prologue**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

I came out here to think. It's not easy. But I guess it's better to think in the side alley of a club, than in the middle of it. I place my hand on the wall, and feel the bass throbbing through the brick.

I can still see her, the way her hips swayed to the music, her red hair cascading down her back. It was like something out of a dream. Or maybe just some ecstasy induced hallucination.

Maybe that's all it ever was. Yeah, tried and true excuse.

The rhythm in the club feels weird, subdued somehow. I can't hear it clearly, but it seems to have slowed down, sensualized itself. Maybe it came outside to think with me.

There's something wrong with me. That's got to be it. I lean my forehead against the brick, and sigh, try to gather myself. I can't even begin to think about going back inside at this point. It would be suicide.

There she'd be. There she'd be, dancing to this song that just feels sexy, and I'd be helpless to counter it.

It's just the drugs. It's just the drugs. It's just the drugs.

It's always just the drugs.

How long can it be just the drugs?

Fuck it.

And that's when I hear it. "You okay?" she says, in that beautifully husky voice of hers. Wait, not beautiful. Husky, yes, but not beautiful. She's not beautiful. I don't think she's absolutely gorgeous.

Oh, fuck, her hand is on my shoulder. Can she feel me tense? Of course she can. She keeps her hand there, anyway. I'm afraid to turn around.

What am I afraid of?

She sighs and slides her hand down my back, and I'm powerless to keep the goosebumps at bay. I shut my eyes tighter, hoping to make it all go away with my mind. At least she's dropped her hand. That makes it easier to pretend she's not here.

But she is here. Goddamnit, she's still here, and I don't think she's going to leave any time soon. "Look at me," she says, and I knew it was going to be something like that.

Maybe if I just make myself sick, she'll go away. Either that, or she'll be completely wonderful and sweet like she always is, and hold my hair back. Which, let's face it, that's the much more likely scenario.

Okay. Obviously, ignoring her isn't working. I'm just going to have to turn around and look at her. I've got to fix my face, first. I can't let on that I've been having an epic battle with myself over the past few minutes.

Fuck, I've even forgotten what I've been fighting about.

Three.

Two.

One.

I turn around.

I keep my back pressed against the wall, somehow taking comfort in its solidity. The bass has changed, a new song, just as mysterious and slow and sexy as the last one. Fuck me, is this national hookup night?

Well, at least if I'm cornered, she can only come at me from one direction, right?

"You're not okay," she says, and I immediately curse my damn expressive eyes. They've officially fucked me over.

"I'm fine." Liar. Liar, liar, liar. Still, I'm impressed with how strong my voice is, and the smile that crept onto my face. I almost believe myself.

"So what are you doing out here?" I can tell she's just playing along.

"I had a headache. I'm fine, now." I move past her, delight in how easy it is. If only I hadn't caught a whiff of her perfume along the way, I might have just made it out of that encounter unscathed. But her scent, and the alcohol, and the ecstasy all combine into one lethal force, and I feel my legs almost buckle out from under me.

It's okay. I catch myself. Or she catches me. Whatever. I'm still on two feet, and while her hands were on my waist for a second or two, she moved them, so I can even breathe, too.

What the fuck is going on?

This is stupid. I just need to go. I need to leave, and get some sleep, and when I wake up tomorrow, this will all be a hazy dream.

So what does it matter what happens tonight, anyway? Fuck it.

I venture a look at her, and place my hand over my stomach. "My tummy feels kind of tight," I explain. Funny, how I didn't even realize that until I said it.

She nods, and curves the corner of her mouth up into a sympathetic half smile. "This will make you feel better," she said, producing a joint out of nowhere.

Awesome. More chemicals.

Breathe.

Just the drugs.

She lights it up and takes a drag, and shoves it in my direction. I take it, because there's nothing else to do. I suppose I could have left by now. Why haven't I left by now?

Fuck it.

She's right. After just two hits, I already feel better. I hand it back to her and take a few steps back, trying to convey that I was finished.

"Let me take you home," she says, and my eyes snap to hers. I imagine I must resemble a deer caught in headlights.

"I live right down the road," she explains. "You look like you could use a lie down." She's pushing the joint back into my hand. I take it and puff, because again, there's nothing else to do. The end is moist, and I imagine it tastes like her.

I hand it back to her, and nod slightly. I don't know what I'm doing, or why. This is stupid. Absolutely ridiculous.

But it's a couch that's close by, and that's awfully tempting.

It's got absolutely nothing to do with her.

Nothing at all.


	2. 1: Impeccable Peccadillo

**Author's Notes**

_I feel it necessary to inform everyone that I am awfully American. Therefore, I'm not completely familiar with this education system, or slang. Feel free to correct me at every turn I'm wrong, so that I can fix it. I'll generally try and stay away from slang in general, and I think I got the school thing right, but you never know. Basically, Roundview's over and nothing happened there. Naomi's furthering her education, but I don't think Emily is. Like I said, no idea where I'm going here. Please bear with me._

_Warnings: excessive inner monologues, characterization revamp, and lack of direction._

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 1: Impeccable Peccadillo**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

I wake the next morning carefully, as though I hadn't let myself relax even in sleep. I had expected to sleep on her couch, but it turned out that she didn't have one. I guess I must have just made that part up in my head. Instead, she helped me up the many, many flights of stairs and slid me into her own bed. Well, I say bed; it's really just an old mattress on the floor with some blankets and pillows thrown on top of it. Hmm… still kind of comfy, though. I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow. I felt her get into bed with me, but I have no recollection of it.

I'm actually really relieved about that.

But I take in as much of my surroundings as I can, because let's face it, that's just what you do. The walls are green. Like, Irish green, which I find strange for some unknown reason. The baseboards are black, and the paint job is one of the sloppiest I've ever seen. The ceiling's black, and the floors are wooden. I get the feeling the color scheme was done long before Emily got here.

She made the most of it, though. There are really intricate star patterns on the ceiling that look like they glow in the dark. I bet that would have been really cool to look at last night.

There are pictures on the windowsill next to the bed. I move just enough so that I can see them. There's one of her and Katie, and I briefly wonder why they don't live together. I would think that would just make sense. I move onto a big group shot, taken at a pub, and all of us are smiling, except for Effy, who never looks any different from emotion to emotion, crowded around an empty shot filled table. Funny. I can't remember when that was.

I blush as my eyes fall on the last picture. It's not one I recognize. I think she must have taken it in secret. I don't even remember the moment, it was probably so ordinary. But, I'm laughing, and it looks like I've never been happier in my life. My eyes are crinkly in the corners, and incredibly bright, though I'm looking off to the left somewhere, and my hands are clutching at my sides.

I think it's the best picture of me ever.

Doesn't change the fact that it's creepy as hell.

There's a knock on the door before Emily pokes her head in. "Naomi?" she asks quietly, as though she's afraid to wake me, even though that's obviously what she's come here to do. Also, I have no idea why she's bothering to knock if she slept in here anyway.

I don't understand people.

"Morning," I say, sitting up, and then wishing I hadn't, clutching my head as a migraine set on.

Emily pads her way into the room, bringing a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water with her. She's already up and dressed, and I really wish I knew what time it was.

"It's nearly noon," she explains as I down a few aspirin.

That's fucking scary.

"Anyway," she continues, moving to the center of the room, as though she's afraid to be too close to me. I'm not complaining. I think I need a little space. "I didn't know if you had anything you needed to do today, so I thought I should wake you to find out. If not, feel free to sleep more, I just didn't want you to miss anything important."

Is she nervous?

She wasn't nervous last night. Was she?

No. She knew exactly what to do every step of the way. She wasn't nervous then.

Maybe it's the drugs? Maybe they affect her differently than they affect me. Maybe they give her the confidence to act the way she wishes she could. Though, all they do to me is make me feel insane, and hot.

"How are you so chipper?" I grumble, pulling the pillow over my head.

"I'm sorry," she says, and I can feel her coming closer to me. I guess I knew it'd be coming eventually. She yanks the pillow away from me, and I glare at her in surprise. I'm not really upset with her, it's just habit. I sneer a lot. "Have you met my sister? I learned how to party ages ago."

"Oh, magic party guru, please share your wisdom," I say, slowly and evenly, and without any inflection at all. I also threw in a slight eye roll for good measure.

She's hurt, but not a lot, and that's exactly what I wanted. She backs up again, heading for the door. She makes to leave, but turns around halfway through, saying, "You should probably take a shower. It'd make you feel better, and the hangover fumes are killing me."

Operation Keep Emily at Bay… successful.

I don't mean to be such a bitch. Really, I don't. It just seems to happen naturally. Though, to be fair, I have been conditioned to keep everyone at arm's length. It's just that I've always been the butt of some joke since middle school, so I'm paranoid that literally everyone is out to get me.

I was hoping I'd grow out of that, but here I am, out of college, and I'm still no better.

There's a certain brand of my bitchiness that I save specifically for Emily, however. It's not right. I really shouldn't. She's so nice, after all, and sweet. She'll obviously go out of her way to help you out if she thinks you need it. She'll even apparently take you home, and take care of you after you've ingested so many chemicals that you don't know what's up and what's down, regardless of whether or not you treat her like a bitch.

So, really, I know I'm a horrible person for treating her the way I sometimes do, like just a moment ago. It's just that I can't seem to stop myself. She is the root of everything.

Hmm. Now, that's an interesting thought. If Emily is the root of everything, then essentially, Emily is the reason that I am the way that I am. I owe my person to her.

Because honestly, do any of us really belong to ourselves?

I don't like where this train of thought's going. Better to derail it now, than let it get to its destination. I'm sure there would be at least three more trains waiting to deport at that particular station. It's just not worth it right now.

It's just not worth it ever.

I open the door and find the bathroom easily. Emily didn't exactly live in the nicest apartment. There were only two doors, aside from the front door, and those were to the bedroom and the bathroom. I was standing in the bedroom doorway; therefore, the doorway to my left must be where the shower's kept.

It's when I'm standing in front of the mirror, taking in the bags under my eyes, and the terrible state my clothes are in that I realize my dilemma. I've been out dancing for most of the night before, and then I slept in my clothes. There was no way I was going to feel even remotely clean if I had to get right back into them after my shower.

"You know what," I call, making my way to the living room. The living room and kitchen are separated by a breakfast bar, and I find her hunched over the other side of it, eating a bowl of cereal. "I don't have any clothes here. Maybe I should just go ahead and go home," I explain, pointing to the front door.

"Don't be silly," she says, swallowing her mouthful of cereal. "You can just borrow some of my clothes." She's smiling, and I know that the exchange in the bedroom has already been forgotten.

"Emily, I'm like half a foot taller than you."

"Really?" she asks, feigning shock. She sets her spoon down in her bowl and comes from around the counter. "I had absolutely no idea," she says, standing in front of me, brow arched in challenge. She moves before I can call her a smart ass, and I follow her towards her bedroom.

She's already rifling through her drawers by the time I get to the doorframe. I hadn't noticed from the bed how small her dresser was. It was hard to imagine all of her clothes fitting into it.

She shoves a few articles of clothing at me, and I'm clumsy at catching them. "The pants are long on me, and the t-shirt's a one size fits all thing."

"Really, I can just go home. You don't need to do this," I say, shaking my head, but smiling at her effort.

"Do you really wanna make the trip in the state your in?" she asks, looking at me disbelievingly. She's got a point. It's midday, and I look a right mess.

"Fine," I say, and head towards the shower. I probably should have thanked her. I'll do that when I'm finished.

She was right, though. As soon as I stepped into the shower and under the warm spray, I felt infinitely better. The heat helped relax my sore muscles, and awakened my senses. Things started becoming less foggy, and my body finally started to feel like my own again.

Though, now, looking in myself in the mirror, I can't say I really look like myself.

Emily changed almost immediately after college graduation. Well, at least her wardrobe did. Gone were the days where people who didn't know any better could get her and Katie confused. Katie was still the fox she always was, but I'm not quite sure how to describe what Emily's become.

I don't want to say that she's become all boyish, because she really hasn't, but her clothes have gotten more masculine. She can typically be found in a pair of slacks and a band tee of some sort. Her clothes are all still very formfitting, though, even if they accentuate lines rather than curves. If you looked closely enough, you could usually see just a hint of hip sticking out, or the way her stomach flattens out under her rib cage.

I can see the appeal of the androgynous style to some girls.

The pants are dark and swishy. That's really the only way I know how to describe them. Despite what Emily said about them being long, I still have to wear them just above the inappropriate line for them to look even halfway decent. I'm not used to my hips being this exposed. The shirt is tight, but I was expecting that, since it's a stretchy one size, and is black.

I'm sure it would look great on Emily, but I just can't pull this look off.

When I head back out into the living room, Emily's sitting on the floor, back leaned against the breakfast bar, legs outstretch, with a book in her hands. "Thanks," I say, smiling even. "For everything. Letting me sleep here, and the shower."

She smiles, and I get the sinking suspicion I may have just made her day. I hate it when she looks at me like that, like I'm some wonderful creature, and she's never seen anything like me. I swear I'm not that special. "No problem," she says, and stands up, putting her hands behind her on the counter, and bracing herself on them.

I wonder if she knows what that pose makes her body do, the way her chest sticks out ever so slightly, and makes her shirt rise up to show a strip of flesh at her midsection.

Whoa. Where the fuck did that come from?

"You know, if you don't have anything to do today, maybe we could hang out," she says, shrugging a shoulder, and trying to act nonchalant. I almost believe her, but there's still a glimmer of hope in her eyes that I can't quite ignore. It rubs me the wrong way.

"Oh, I can't," I say, forcing myself to look disappointed. "I've got coursework I really should be getting on with."

"Coursework. Right. University," she says, nodding along with each word. Her voice audibly drops. An actress, she is not. She pushes off from the counter and makes her way over to the front door. "Well, good luck with that," she says, opening the door for me.

"Thanks," I say, offering a polite smile. "Maybe some other time," slips out of my mouth before I even think about it. I want to take it back immediately.

Why do I do that? Why do I constantly make sure that she'll stick around somewhere in my orbit? It just doesn't make sense.

"Sure," she says, but doesn't push.

"Right. Well… bye," I say, suddenly awkward. I breathe a sigh of relief when she shuts the door behind me.

Now, if I can just make it down these many, many flights of stairs, I might actually survive another day.


	3. 2: You Are Off Your Guard

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 2: You Are Off Your Guard**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

I don't have any coursework. None that's currently pressing, anyway. I just didn't want to know what hanging out with Emily included. I mean, we're friendly with each other, don't get me wrong. It's just that we haven't really been alone together very often. I've avoided it, actually. I have no problem with her in a group, but the one on one thought make me slightly queasy.

Interestingly enough, she was my original tie to the group.

If Emily hadn't insisted on Pandora inviting me to her birthday party way back when, she never would have gotten to know Effy. I get along surprisingly well with Effy, actually, mostly because she doesn't feel the need to talk everything to death. Still, she always seems to know when there's something that needs to get out, and on those occasions, she's always said them for me.

Almost like she knows I can only say them once, and she's not the one who's meant to hear them.

Of course, being close to Effy means being close to Cook. Most people think he's a jokester of a manwhore party boy, and they'd be right. But that's not all there is to him. He's shown a lot of insight over the last few years, and he can be really sensitive. Of course, he still makes a joke out of everything, but that just adds to his charm. Nothing is the end of the world with him, and I don't know how anybody gets through life without a friend like him.

I'm amazed they're still not dating. They've been fucking long enough. I mean, I understand there's the whole Freddie thing, but everyone knew that could never work out, including Freddie and Effy. They're both just too broody; they would essentially waste away together, possibly ending it all with a suicide pact.

It just wasn't worth it.

But just because Emily's the reason I have these other connections doesn't mean I've made a great connection with her. Like I said, I don't mind her in groups, she's usually always around. In fact, I even kind of like her in groups, especially when Katie's not around. She's really actually very witty, and sarcastic. She talks about a lot of bands and movies I've never heard of, but they all sound really interesting, and what I've heard of her music has been really cool and unique.

I just don't think I want it all in my life on a regular basis, you know?

"Hey!" Someone's calling me. I stop and look around, spotting Cook across the street. He's waving at me, and jogs over to me when I see him. He hugs me in greeting when he reaches me, just like he always does.

"Hey, Cook," I say, smiling, happy to see him.

He takes a step back and looks me up and down, a sly grin pulling at the corners of his lips. "Making the walk of shame, then?"

"Excuse me?" I ask, before looking down at myself. Oh, fuck. I had forgotten I was wearing Emily's clothes.

"Yeah, I saw you leave with Emily last night," he says, smiling wider and gesturing to my outfit. "You two finally get it on?" He puts his hands behind his head and thrusts his pelvis once or twice.

"Fuck off," I say, hitting him playfully in the shoulder. "It's not like that, and you know it. I just wasn't feeling well last night, so she let me stay at her place."

"Right, you weren't feeling well," he chuckles. "What's with the getup, then?"

I sigh, and look away. "I didn't have any clean clothes; she lent me some of hers."

"Yeah," he says, lighting a cigarette. "They suit you." He eyes me up and down once more.

"Right," I say, rolling my eyes. "I am currently the picture of feminine beauty."

"The pants are a little short." He takes a long drag on his cigarette, probably just to show off. Nearly a quarter of it turns to ash. "So, I was on my way to meet Effy at this pub around the corner. Care to join?" he asks, extending his arm.

It's hard not to fall into Cook's plans. He's just so happy and cheerful that it's hard not to be happy and cheerful around him. With a smile and a nod, I take his arm. "Absolutely," I say.

He wasn't joking when he told me the pub we were going to was right around the corner. Sometimes I wonder if he's made it a point to discover all the pubs and clubs in the area, and rotate them so that we never get bored of a location. It's actually quite clever, because it keeps routine from setting in. It took an entire year of hanging out with Cook before I saw the same club again. I actually really liked the one we all went to last night, but I don't think we'll go back there for a while.

Maybe I'll go check it out on my own, sometime. The music they played was… intense.

Cook sets up at a large table near the door, so that anyone who walks in can easily see us. I don't know why he bothers. Effy's not stupid, she'd be able to find us no matter where we were. I think he might just like the attention. Always has to be the center of everything.

"What time is Effy supposed to be here, anyway?" I ask, sitting down on one of the stools surrounding the table.

As if on cue, Effy walks through the door. I wonder sometimes if she waits outside the entrance of the place and eavesdrops for any good entrance moments. I really wouldn't be all that surprised.

"Hey, babe," Cook exclaims, hugging her in greeting like he did with me.

She offers him a small smile. "Hi, Naomi," she says, looking at me while sitting down.

"Effy," I say, nodding my head. Nothing else is really necessary at this point.

"Alright, I'll go get us drinks," Cook explains before bounding off towards the bar. I try to tell him I only want water, but he's not listening to me.

I can feel Effy watching me, studying me. It really makes fucking sense that she went into psychology. Analyzing people is like a hobby to her. "Stayed with Emily?" she asks.

"Yes," I say with a straight face. Effy and I have this unspoken game, where she tries to get me to slip over my own logic, and convince me that I really have a thing for Emily. I don't, but she thinks it's fun to play, anyway.

I really wish people would just get it through their thick skulls that I'm straight. Just because I'm still single doesn't mean I like to go down on girls. That's just ridiculous. I'm just very… focused on my education.

"How was it?"

I have a choice here. I wish I knew what each of them meant. I could either tell her it went fine, or I could ask her what she's talking about. I'm afraid that if I tell her it went fine, then she'll think we slept together. Which we did, but only technically, and not in any kind of sexual way. Or, if the question is bait, then asking for clarification would only be taking said bait.

I take that back. All communication with Effy is one big chess game.

It's actually kind of fun, to be honest.

Fine. I'll take the fucking bait. Let's see where this goes.

"How was what?" I ask, arching a brow in challenge.

She smiles just a little bit bigger before clarifying. "How was the sex?"

If I had been drinking something, I would have choked on it. Speaking of drinks, where is Cook? As it was, I was really upset that I didn't have a drink, or wasn't smoking anything. I would have even settled for a book in my hands. Anything that I can set down, or move, or slam in reaction, so that my bug eyes are not the only things at my disposal to convey surprise.

"Sorry, I assumed you wanted people to know," she says, eyeing me up and down the same way Cook did.

I sigh, and roll my eyes, and bury my face in my hands all at the same time. I'm an excellent multitasker. "Why do you automatically assume that just because I'm wearing her clothes, bodily fluids were exchanged?"

She shrugs one shoulder and lights a cigarette. "Because you got out of yours."

I chuckle softly, because I fell for it. I didn't need to be so dramatic. "She let me shower. I had nothing else to get into. I wasn't exactly expecting to run into anyone on my way home."

She nods and draws on her cigarette. "So then why are you here, in her clothes?"

I really wish Cook would get back with those drinks. I could sure use one right about now. "Because I ran into Cook, and he invited me." Simple, and to the point. Get anything out of that, Effy Stonem.

"Why didn't you take the bus?"

Oh, fuck sake. "Look," I start, setting my hands flat on the table. "There is nothing between me and Emily. I know she has a crush on me, and has had for years. But I'm not interested in her. Never have been, and never will be." I feel like I'm saying this for the millionth time. Probably because I am.

"Why do you keep her around then?"

That floors me. I thought I was doing so well, but she just had to throw that at me. I never should have played along with this in the first place. I know what she's talking about. Hell, I made a shining example of it this morning by suggesting a rain check with Emily, one I knew I'd never keep. I always make sure I'm just nice enough to her to keep myself in her good graces. It's a fine line, and difficult to walk, and I have no idea why I put forth the effort.

Luckily, Cook saves me by returning with a pitcher and some glasses. Water sounded wonderful when I walked in here, but now I'm for some alcohol. As I'm pouring myself a glass, I look up at him and ask him playfully, "What took you so long? Pretty girl at the bar?"

I have a habit of making comments like these and then glancing discreetly at Effy to see how she feels about it. She never seems to give a shit. In fact, I don't know why I still do it. These two really do seem like they just want to fuck each other periodically and nothing more.

What would that be like, I wonder?

"As a matter of fact, there was," he says, turning back around and waving. I look past him and notice a pretty redhead behind the bar. It's then I notice the napkin sticking out of his back pocket that wasn't there before. That boy will never change, and I think I find that fact reassuring. Everybody needs a constant in their life, right? "I also needed to make a few calls," he explains waving his phone at me before sitting down between me and Effy.

"Who'd you invite?" Effy asks him.

"Ah, ah. It's a surprise," he grins, and I'm suddenly very afraid for whatever he has planned.

"Didn't we all go out and party last night?" I ask, downing half of my glass. I can already feel my brain turning fuzzy, which just goes to prove my point. No way half a pint of beer should be making me feel fuzzy unless I haven't yet recovered from my previous binge. "You really want to start all over again ten hours later?"

"Well, it's the weekend," he says, sounding like a chastised child. "That's what you're supposed to do."

"He's got a point," Effy says, tilting her head in his direction.

We were all heading for an early grave, if you ask me. To hell with it, you only live once, right?

I was finishing off the last of my beer when Katie walked through the door. Why in the hell would Cook invite Katie? We've always hated each other, and there was always tension between Effy and Katie. I think it's a queen bee thing, but you never know with girls like that.

I can tell Effy's thinking the same thing, but only because I know her so well. She's just set her jaw. That's it. Nothing else has changed. But that's how you know that Effy's on edge.

"So it finally happened," Katie says, striding over to our table. "Gotta say, that's a hell of a way to come out, Naomi."

"Excuse me?" I say, slamming my glass down on the table.

"Didn't take you nearly as long to turn into a baby dyke as it did my sister. You must be a quick study."

Okay, I am getting really tired of this bullshit.

"Is that still what you think of me?"

Oh, fuck. Emily's here.

This is bad.

Katie has the decency to look ashamed as she turns around. "That's not what I mean, Emsy," she says coaxingly, reaching out to her.

Emily's not listening to her. She doesn't even seem all that bothered by the way her sister was talking about her. It actually seems a lot like she's used to it. Instead, she's looking past Katie, and at me.

Her eyes are hard to read. I don't know if she's angry, or sad, or just plain indifferent. I try to look away from her. I try to look both guilty and innocent at the same time. I start to feel sick again, because the only thing I do know is that she knows I've lied to her, and I've hurt her worse than I did this morning.

I never meant to. Really I didn't. I just don't think I know how to stop myself.

She shakes her head and smiles sadly, finally looking away from me. She looks at everyone else in turn, first Katie, then Effy, finally coming to rest on Cook. She shrugs at him, and I can almost hear her ask him "what the fuck?"

We all turn to look at Cook, who at least looks outright ashamed of himself. "I didn't think it would turn out like this. Honest."

Emily sighs at that, turns on her heels, and walks out. I can't really say that I blame her. I think for a second about going after her, but I'm not comfortable with what that might mean. Cook's up and after her fairly quickly though, so I'm saved the moral dilemma.

Katie leaves shortly after, not bothering to spare a word for either me or Effy. Can't say I really care, though.

"Well," Effy says when it's just the two of us. She pours me another glass of beer and scoots it in front of me. "That was interesting."


	4. 3: Bring Your Own Sun

**Author's Notes**

_First of all, thanks for all the kind words. You guys are awesome. Second, I couldn't resist. I just had to redo the blowbacks scene. I wasn't planning on it when I sat down to write the chapter, but when I got to that part, it just seemed ridiculously natural._

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 3: Bring Your Own Sun**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

I down most of my freshly pour drink quickly. I feel my brain starting to turn certain parts of itself off. Good. There are things I don't want to think about right now. Effy hasn't spoken, and I think it's going to stay that way. She's not going to leave, though. Not unless I do. I can already feel the Effy Stonem adhesive to my side because she thinks I shouldn't be alone.

Whatever.

Freddie and JJ walk into together shortly after, and then I know why both Katie and Emily showed up. JJ and Emily have bee great friends since college, and Freddie and Katie gravitated towards each other for the simple fact they didn't really have anyone else. JJ, Freddie, and Cook were all still friends, though. It's strange, how many tiny cliques are in our circle of friends. No one got along with absolutely everyone else. Some people got along better with most of us, but someone, somewhere in the line had a problem.

Maybe we all just needed to grow up.

Though, why Cook didn't just tell us he invited everyone is beyond me. That boy never did make much sense.

"Where's Cook?" Freddie asks, looking at Effy. Ha. Not his girlfriend, my ass.

"He went to take care of Emily," she says, glancing at me. "I'll tell you later," she continues, after seeing his confused face.

"Hello, Naomi." JJ's stiff with me, but he always has been. I think he's got it in his head that I've wronged Emily in some epic way.

"Hi, JJ," I say to him, not bothering to make myself sound cheerful. It's not because he's JJ. It's because I feel like shit, and I'm kinda tipsy. I no longer want to be here. "Sorry I can't stay," I say, standing up. "I need to be getting home."

"Oh, okay," JJ says, looking me up and down just like everyone else has. He doesn't say anything, though. I'm actually really grateful to him for that. I don't know that I could have handled another Emily-centric interrogation right now.

"I'll come with you," Effy says, gathering her things.

"No, you don't have to do that." I've already given up, though, and you can see it from my posture. Effy just shoots me a look, and that's the end of that.

"Why is she wearing Emily's clothes?" I can hear Freddie ask JJ as we're leaving.

Effy lights up two cigarettes when we get outside and passes one of them to me. I gave up smoking a while back, but I take it anyway. There's nothing wrong with self-medication. I know it'll calm my nerves.

Still, when I inhale, I'm not prepared for just how good it feels. I had managed to quit long enough to forget the almost orgasmic satisfaction that comes with fire back on your tongue.

We walk slowly, and in silence. I don't know if she'll ask me about it. This is one of those situations where she'll either let it work itself out, or something needs to be said or done, and she won't stop until she gets it out.

I really hope it's not the latter.

I flick my cigarette butt off into the street when I'm finished with it, and shove my hands in my pockets. It's the only thing I can do with them right now.

"You know you're going to tell me what happened, don't you?" Effy asks several minutes later.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Liar."

I stop in my tracks and sigh heavily. The alcohol's made everything heavy, and I'm not sure I've got the strength for this. Effy turns around "Let me guess. You weren't expecting to see Emily today, because you told her you had something to do. Somewhere around there?"

I nod and look at the ground. I watch her ripped stockings come into view as she walks closer to me.

"Look, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do," she says softly.

My head snaps up, and my brow crinkles in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," she repeats. "But you really should do everything you want."

I don't think about the words that almost come tumbling out of my mouth. I have no idea I'm going to say them until I've already started. "I'm just sca-"

"I know," Effy cuts me off. Thank god, because I think if I started, I'd never stop. Everything's just so fucked up, and I don't know how to make it better. I don't even know if I want to make it better.

Well, that's just great. I'm real in touch with myself, aren't I?

Effy turns around and starts walking. I think I hear her mutter "All in good time" to herself, but I can't be sure.

Sometimes, I wonder if I just live my life in defiance of everybody around me.

*****

When I got home, I went right to sleep. I hadn't realized just how exhausted I was until I was back in my own bed. I had been glad for a place to sleep that was close by last night, but I hadn't gotten the best night's sleep in the world.

Convincing Effy to leave me alone wasn't all that hard. She just gave me one of her patented looks, you know, the kind that demand action of you, because if you don't, you're a hopeless prick, and the guilt will one day overtake you. Yes, Effy can say all of that with a look. It was actually really scary.

I felt a lot better after a nap, too, as though the problems with Emily weren't nearly as dramatic as I made them seem earlier in the day. Sure, I needed to do damage control, but this wasn't the end of the world. Emily wasn't really anything to me, after all. And I wasn't anything to her.

Hell, she shouldn't have been as upset as she was. It's not as though we have to report in with each other.

Still, I know I shouldn't have lied to her. It was childish. I should have just told her that I wasn't interested, and that would be that.

So, why can't I seem to do it?

I glance at my cell phone and realize that it's already eight o'clock. The night's going to get started soon. I also notice I've got a few missed calls and a text message from Cook. He wants to me to meet "everybody" at yet another club tonight. At least I know who's going to be there this time.

But no one will be there for at least another two hours. I decide it might be better to talk to Emily now, then try and deal with the tension that may surround us all later tonight.

I grab something quick to eat, and I'm already headed toward her place before I start sending her text messages.

"_Hey, Em. Sorry about earlier. What are you up to?"_

I only have to wait a few minutes for her reply. _"Not much. Reading a book and trying to decide whether or not to go out with everyone tonight."_

I slow my pace so I can type out a reply. I've never been good at texting and moving at the same time. _"You should. Can I come over?"_

I make it about half a block before I get my reply. _"Sure."_

That last one's hard to read. I have no idea what kind of mood she's going to be in when I get there.

The building that Emily lives in is old, but cool. The outside is painted in reds, and yellow, and blue, and I think the colors were really bright at one point. I can see artists from several decades ago living in places like this, sitting in their windows, sketching the passersby. They're University students in my head, and ambitious. It's a transitional kind of place.

Now, it almost looks like a place junkies go to squat and shoot up. Not that Emily does either one of those, the place just kind of gives off that vibe.

My stomach starts to feel tingly as I make my way up the stairs, but I manage to convince myself that I'm just really out of shape, despite the fact that I walk everywhere. Sometimes, I run.

I can hear music coming from Emily's apartment before I even get to it. It's muffled and I can't quite make it out, but it sounds like one of her underground girl rock bands, where the lead singer has a ridiculously high and cutesy voice, a distinct contrast to the heaviness of the music.

Goddamnit, why do I know this?

I take a deep breath and knock on her door. A few seconds later, I hear the volume being turned down, before she answers the door. She seems winded, and her hair's kind of scraggly. "You got here fast," she says, stepping aside to let me in.

"Yeah, I was kind of already on the way when I asked," I admit, stepping past her and into the living room. She's moved her electric guitar from her room to the far corner of the living room, opposite her stereo system, which is still playing her crazy music. I can easily see Emily jamming out by herself, playing along, pretending she was giving a concert. It's too bad she doesn't appear to have an amp. I would love to hear that.

"Wow," she says simply, moving over to her stereo and turning the music off completely.

"Oh, you can leave it on," I say, absentmindedly. I was actually kind of enjoying it. It was intriguing, and had a good beat.

She arches an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything, just turns the music back on. She doesn't turn it back up, though. She makes her way over to the big metal pillar that's going from floor to ceiling in the middle of her living room, and leans against it. "So what's up?" she asks.

She's defensive. She hasn't smiled at me all night, and she's kind of tense. She stands with her arms crossed across her chest, and won't maintain eye contact with me for long... But she's also not angry. Mostly, she just looks tired.

I wonder briefly what her and Cook talked about. I'd ask him, but I know he'd never tell me. It's one of his better traits, actually.

"Look, I just wanted to apologize," I say, outstretching my arms as though I'm at a loss for words. I guess I kind of am, but I know I'll find them. "It was immature, and I never should have lied to you."

Her shoulders tense as she takes a deep breath. She shoves her hands into her pockets, and I realize I've embarrassed her. God, I'm a fucking cow. "Hey," she says, turning from me and making her way into the kitchen. She only looks at me again when she's safely behind the counter. "It's not that big of a deal. Really. It was just… with Katie and everything…" she lets her sentence trail off. I think it's as close to an acceptance as I'm going to get, considering we both know it wasn't Katie that bothered her the most. Still, I'm grateful for the out.

Well, since I'm here, I might as well take an interest. "What's up with that, anyway?" I ask, moving to her former position leaning against the pillar. It closes the distance some, but there's still space and a counter between us, so I think we both can breathe. "I thought you guys had worked through all of that." I thought I remembered Cook saying something about it, a while back.

It was never any secret that Katie had issues with her sister's sexuality. Even I noticed the way it affected Emily throughout our time in college. Emily had always been quiet and overshadowed. Anyone who paid any attention could tell you she was miserable. But then she started standing up for herself. She came out, and started created an identity separate from her sister's.

I thought it was really great of her, at the time. That took a lot of guts.

But that move threw Katie's world view completely off-kilter, and she didn't know how to deal with it. She had always been the leader, and then when Emily wasn't there to follow her anymore, she didn't know what to do. I can still remember several cafeteria episodes where Katie lashed out in anger at Emily, simply for daring to be different.

But things had quieted down, and I had just assumed they had finally managed to patch things up. They are twins after all. Isn't it physically impossible for one to go on without the other? Or something? I don't know, there's supposed to be some mystical twin bond that no one can break.

How can anyone else really compete? Genetic law dictate's they'll always be each other's number one.

She sighs and shrugs a shoulder, leaning her elbows on the counter. "We have, for the most part," she explains. "She just… thinks I'm wasting my looks, or something. It's not so much the gay thing, and more the style thing."

Wow. There's an explanation I wasn't expecting. I also don't believe it, but it's really none of my business in the first place. It's hard to imagine anyone thinking Emily was wasting her looks. She didn't flaunt the typical things girls flaunted, but that just added to the entire look. Instead of never-ending cleavage, she'd wear a t-shirt that would call attention how slender her shoulders are. Instead of mini-skirts that look like they're painted onto her body, she wears pants that provide just a hint of the shape of the leg underneath the fabric. She wears beads and cloth around her wrists to call attention to her hands, and undecorated fingers. She has very clean nails…

"It's just hard on her," Emily says softly, as though she knew I didn't believe her. Her voice is so gentle that I know it's best not to push it, though. Interestingly enough, I had no desire to delve further into this until she spoke that way. Now, I just really want to know the cause of that sound. It's not one I like hearing.

I nod in understanding, even though I really don't.

I know I never really will.

We sit in awkward silence for a few minutes before she breaks it by looking at her phone. "We've still got an hour before we're supposed to meet Cook," she says, rifling through a tin on the cabinet and producing a spliff. "Care to get the party started early?"

Ah, yes. That's just what we need. Drugs when we're alone with Emily Fitch. Fan-fucking-tastic idea. I can't, however, get out of this situation. I can't flee, because I've come here to apologize for doing just that. "Sure," I say, smiling, and making my way over to the counter, surprising even myself.

She's already got it lit by the time I get over there, apparently deciding she was going to partake with or without me. Hey, that's an idea. What if I politely decline? No, there'd be no point in that. For one thing, I already said I'd smoke it with her, for another, I'll be doing far worse later tonight, anyway. She hands it to me and stretches, eyes looking at the ceiling.

Some might call her cat like.

She exhales above us as I take a drag, and smiles. Her eyes already have a mischievous glint to them, and I'm suddenly on edge. No amount of weed is going to soothe my nerves, now. "Do you want to do blowbacks?" she asks me when I pass it back to her, grinning slyly, and waving the spliff like a glow stick.

I scoff slightly, mostly to myself. "I never got blowbacks," I say. "Why can't people just smoke the damn things straight?"

She laughs at me. I kid you not, she laughs at me, not what I said. "Because it's fun," she explains, as though that should be obvious. "Have you ever tried it?" Her voice is defiant, and I find her good mood catching.

"No," I admit. "But, being all seeing, I already know it's shit."

She laughs again, this time with a disbelieving shake of her head. "Come on, then," she says, leaning over the counter. "Everything once."

This is one of those moments when I'm clearly being challenged and should really back off. But as I've thought about many times, I think I'm just defiant by nature. This leaves me with a serious dilemma. I can back off, and defy her by not rising to the challenge. Or, I can rise to the challenge in attempts of defiance.

I study her for a moment, trying to figure out what her motives are. She's expecting me to pull away, it's written all over her face. This is a test of some kind.

Fuck it.

I meet her halfway over the counter, and her eyes widen ever so slightly in surprise. Ha! She wraps her lips around the burning end of the spliff and quickly grabs my hands, bringing them up around the other end. I lean my face towards hers, and she moves her hands behind my jaw, guiding my face to hers. Her fingers are gently stroking the skin along the nape of my neck, and I realize that she's got calluses on the pads of her fingers, probably from playing the guitar. The palms of her hands are soft, though.

There's a rush of smoke, and it tastes different than it did a moment ago. Now, it's mixed with her breath, and it tastes sweeter, and headier. It quickly becomes too much, and I sit up quickly, trying to keep the massive amount of smoke in my lungs.

She smiles as I exhale, long and slow. This is going to be a long night.


	5. 4: Don't Go In If You Are

**Author's Notes**

_No, no, what follows does not mirror the show. I can't be that nice and throw that into the mix just yet, can I? Of course not. I've got to complicate things and make them crazy. This chapter was a blast to write, and I know the next one will be, too._

_Warnings: serious drug use, incessant giggling, and glow sticks._

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 4: Don't Go In If You Are…**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

"God, I love this song," Emily says, swaying slightly to the music as she takes her next hit.

I listen to it for a minute, start bobbing my head to it. It felt heavy, and dark. "Who is it?" I ask her some time after the first chorus, passing the spliff back to her. I had to admit, it was good shit. I already had a decent head change.

She inhales the smoke in her mouth with a pop and grins at me. A pause, then she exhales. "Jack Off Jill," she says, passing the joint back to me yet again. "Almost old enough to be considered classic."

"I like them," I say, getting even higher. I wasn't lying. They played with abandon, and that kind of recklessness was intriguing. Sometimes, I wish I could be more like that.

Contrary to initial belief, I did manage to relax after the blowback. Just being that close to her, knowing she feels the way she does, was a little unnerving.

No. That's not it. But it's a good enough explanation as anything.

But I don't know why I've avoided hanging out with Emily for so long. This isn't nearly as awkward and tense as I thought it would be.

"I'd better get ready for tonight," she says once we've finished smoking. I don't know what she's talking about. She looks like she's ready for a night out. Cargo pants hang loosely from her hip bones, and she's got an electric blue shirt on with intricate black designs on it. It's surprisingly eye catching.

Hell, even I'd hit that.

Wait a minute.

No, I wouldn't.

Fuck.

She bounces, yes, bounces, off to her bathroom, and I'm left in her bare living room. It wouldn't even be fun to snoop, because I really don't think she owns enough stuff to have anything embarrassing.

I guess that's what it's like for a while when you strike out on your own. I don't think she's gotten any help from her family since leaving home. If she had, I'm sure she'd have a couch. Though, I find it interesting that a guitar is higher on Emily's priority list than actual furniture.

There's a knock on the door and I decide to go ahead and answer it, letting Emily get ready uninterrupted.

"Hey, Naomi!" Cook exclaims, clearly surprised to see me. "Good to see you, here."

"Hey, Cook," I say, stepping aside to let him in. I purposefully don't respond to his comment, or offer explanation. "Emily's just getting ready. I didn't know you were picking her up," I explain.

"I'm picking everybody up," he says, leaning against the metal pillar. "You were next, and last on my list. Saves me the trip, though."

I move over to the stereo and turn the music off, and Cook yells towards the bathroom. "Come on, we've got to go!"

Well, what did you expect? You just showed up, without warning.

"You know, patience is a virtue," Emily says as she steps out of the bathroom. She's put on a white long sleeved shirt underneath her blue one, and added a bright red belt to her waste. She's run a brush through her hair, and darkened her eye makeup.

It's not much of a change, but it's a great one.

"Yeah, yeah," Cook says, waving her off. "Let's get this party started." He throws an arm around me shoulder and leads me over to Emily, throwing his other arm around hers, before directing us both towards the door.

"Why do you have to live on the top floor again?" Cook asks Emily, when we're about halfway down the stairs.

"I like the bell tower feel," she says. "Besides, how else would I keep these fantastic legs?" she asks, smiling widely.

Then explain the arms.

Cook's managed to acquire a van from somewhere. I don't bother asking him, because I'm fairly certain I don't want to know. I can't testify against him if I don't know anything, right? It looked like a normal van on the outside, but the interior was something to write home about.

Cook was driving, and Effy was in the passenger seat. Freddie, Katie, and JJ were squished in the back seat. The two middle seats were separate, and while the one closest the door was facing the right direction, the one opposite was facing backwards, and was reclined at a forty-five degree angle. There were white fairy lights trimming the floor and windows, which had sliding blinds on them. The ceiling had an oval cut out of it with a mirror installed, also lined with the fairy lights, and encased in glass. The carpet was soft and thick. It almost looked like a retro space ship. I noticed there was a tray that folded down from the wall that Freddie was currently using to break up weed on.

I had no idea why he was continuing. He already had five spliffs rolled and laid out in front of him.

Emily's quick to grab the seat facing backwards, so I climb in after her, shutting the door behind me. Cook let's Freddie finish rolling the spliff he's working on before moving again. Though it doesn't look like Freddie's done, yet. He's already started work on another one. "What are all those for?" I ask.

"Oh," Cook says, laughing from behind the wheel. "One for each of us," he explains. "But hold onto it throughout the night. You'll need it in the wee hours of the morning."

Emily nods sagely at his words, but I ignore her. "What do you mean?" I ask.

"You'll see," he says, and I can't get anything else out of him.

Freddie finishes rolling the last spliff, and hands one to each of us. I look about on my person, looking for somewhere to put it where it won't get crushed or come unrolled. Emily sees this and takes my spliff from me, sliding it into a small wooden box she's pulled out of one of the pockets in her pants.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Freddie asks her when he sees.

"Don't worry," she tells him, smiling softly. "I'll take care of her."

Excuse me?

Freddie just shrugs, and I notice Katie glare out the window. I wonder if Emily saw it, or even cares. She doesn't appear to.

The place we were going to sure was out of the way. We had left civilization a while back, and have been turning down smaller and smaller roads. Finally, he turns down a tiny gravel road that twists and turns its way through hills until we reach a great stone church. It looks like it's been here forever, and is set into the hills behind it. I imagine it being the kind with old catacombs in it. There's a red light shining through the stained glass, making it look almost satanic.

"Whoa," JJ says, and I find myself agreeing with him.

"Alright, now there is a rule of conduct," Cook says, turning around from the driver's seat. "Once you're in, no one leaves the church until we all leave together tomorrow morning. Got it?" He seems to be dead serious.

We all vocalize our understanding in some form or fashion, and pile out of the van.

"Alright, get ready for the adventure of your life," he says, rubbing his hands together. He looks just like a little kid on Christmas. I look over at Emily and can tell she's excited as well.

When we get inside we're stopped by a plastic table blockade. There are things for tea set out on them, with really large sugar bowls. I watch as Cook reaches into one of them and brings out two sugar cubes, tossing them both in his mouth. He chews them quickly and swallows, shaking his head and howling in triumph. Emily smiles at him and follows his lead, popping two cubes into her own mouth as though she were popping pills.

I've got a funny feeling about this.

Everyone else follows suit before they're allowed past the tables. I'm fairly certain I have to partake if I'm going to get into this party. I toss two in my own mouth, and let them dissolve, and I know I've just taken LSD for the first time.

"You should have only had one," Emily says, leaning towards my ear so that I can hear it over the bass. "Those are double drops."

Great. First time out and I've dropped four hits. Go me.

The main hall is huge, and is lit up in red. There are speakers set up along the walls, and the pews have been ripped out. There's a balcony on the wall with the front door, for extra congregation seating, I suppose, and a balcony at the front, for the choir. It looks like the altar's been transformed into a bar.

I get the feeling that "renovations" like these have been made to the whole church.

There are people dancing in the middle of the room, but it's not packed. I noticed there weren't an insane amount of people earlier, and now I know why. Too many people tripping in a confined space is potentially very dangerous.

The music is slow, and dark, and crawling, and almost makes me want to writhe against someone. I look around me to find that everyone I came here with is gone. Emily's around, but she's across the room, dancing with some brunette chick. I get the sense that she's keeping an eye on me, though.

I make my way up to the altar, and realize it's not so much a bar as it is a drug accessory buffet. There was a guy dispensing bottles of water, and he handed one to me as soon as I got up there. I looked at a few things laid out on the table. "Pacifiers?" I ask him, incredulous.

He looks me up and down before handing me one. "Take it," he tells me, and I do. "You'll be thankful later." He says.

"Thanks," I say, and turn around. I quickly shove the pacifier into my pocket and forget about it.

Soon I started to feel light, and the red felt imposing. Everywhere I looked I saw ghosts of couples that didn't belong together. It was heavy, and I needed to get away from it. There were a few doors and hallways leading out of the room, so I just chose the one closest to me. It was a dark hallway, and I had no idea where it went.

The music coming from behind me muted itself a few feet in. It was now just a dull thud coming from somewhere far away, and I felt much better. I was getting kind of claustrophobic, though. The hallway was hot and musky, almost as though there were people having sex in it.

That's a funny thought.

I feel something wash over me as I start to giggle. I giggle, and I giggle, and it feels so good that I just have to keep on.

"Ow," I say between giggles as my knees hit the stone floor. It doesn't hurt for long. I'm too busy laughing.

I laugh so good and so long that I forget how long I carried on. Suddenly, I notice that my sides really hurt and I should probably calm down.

By this time, I've completely forgotten where I am.

As I'm lying on the floor, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time, I notice a thin strip of dark blue light. It looks like it's coming from nowhere, and I'm overtaken with the need to figure out what it is. It's just that it looks so refreshing. I make my way over to it, not bothering to stand up since it's on the floor anyway, and reach my hand out to touch it.

My hand goes into it, and I realize it's a door.

Wow, I'm a fucking idiot.

I stand up and lean against the wall, groping in the darkness for the door handle. I find it and lean, opening the door and stumbling into the room. It's cooler in here, and it feels nice.

It looks like somebody's split open a bunch of those glow necklaces and splattered the walls with their insides. There are splatters of various neon colors all over the walls and surfaces of everything in the room. Even the mattress on the floor. Hmm. That looks comfy.

I make my way over to it, and practically fall on top of it. The cloth feels strange against my skin. I roll onto the back and start to look at the neon splatters around the room. The music in here is different than the music earlier. It's electronic, but it's not techno. It's slower, and more ambient. It's almost trance like, though not quite.

Regardless, I like it. I like it here, in this room, with the black light and the neon paint. It's nice.

The door opens, and someone walks in, but they turn out the lights before I can figure out who it is. I think it was female, though. That sure narrows it down.

I'm not afraid though, and I'm too fucked up to wonder why. The paint splatters glow brighter in the darkness. I stare at a particularly intricate accident, and I can almost feel myself falling into the fall.

A blue cylinder of light appears over by the door, followed by a red one. They start to move, slowly at first, but picking up momentum, slowing down and speeding up with the music. Their tracers are extremely long.

The blue light runs. It makes intricate patterns, and sweeping arches, speeding faster and faster away from the red light, but the red light's relentless. It follows the blue light no matter where it goes, no matter how hard it struggles to keep up. Sometimes, the blue light will stop suddenly, and the red one will whiz past it, only to backtrack and try and catch up all over again.

It's one of the saddest things I've ever seen.

Until suddenly the two lights start to move together. The blue light is letting the red light keep pace, and they start to create beautiful patterns and shapes together. They twist and turn around one another, and it becomes difficult to spot exactly where one ends and the other begins, and know I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life.

It causes me to cry out when they're finally still, because it was all too much to take. I don't think humans are meant to experience something like that.

The lights begin to move again in response, but slowly. After a few minutes, they start to move toward me. I can't help but smile as they come ever closer to me, bathing me in light. Closer and closer they come, until they right up at my face, dancing with each other and making me squint. One of them moves to one side of my face, while the other moves to the opposite side. They start to beat in time to the music, moving past my face and back with every beat, creating blinders of light so that I can only see ahead.

A face comes into view, and the lights make me feel as though this is all there is. The rest of the world that I thought existed outside of this column of light is fake, and imaginary, and this person must be nothing short of God. How else could they control these pure light creatures? I swear, they were souls in their own right, each one.

Except it's Emily and I gasp.

The lights fall from beside my face and go back to where I think the door is. Emily turns the light on, and her white sleeves are blinding in the black light. I have to squint. She turns her glow sticks off and comes to sit next to me on the bed.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, but when she talks, a soft green light comes out of her mouth. I find myself staring at her lips when she speaks. She smiles when I don't answer her. "Naomi," she says firmly, but still gently.

"Yeah," I say, breaking out of my trance. "I'm alright." My eyes have caught sight of the intricate black pattern on her shirt. It starts to breathe after a few seconds.

She moves, and the patterns shifts and I don't want to look at it anymore. "How are your teeth?" she asks me.

What?

I work my jaw once or twice to discover that I've been clenching my teeth and sucking my cheeks. I run my tongue along the inside of my cheek to discover that it does, indeed, feel like a denture mold. I hadn't even noticed I was doing it.

"You're probably dehydrated, too," she says, handing me her bottle of water and making me drink. It's room temperature, but feels good nonetheless. "Where's your pacifier?" she asks me, when I've handed her water back to her.

I have absolutely no idea what she's talking about.

She sighs and reaches into one of my pockets, producing a pacifier by magic. Hey, she should take JJ's shtick. I start to giggle, forgetting that I didn't say that out loud, and wonder why she doesn't join in. My mind completely skims over the fact that there's no way she should have known where that pacifier was, especially since I didn't even remember I had it.

She doesn't seem to mind, though. She is, however, patiently trying to get me to suck on a pacifier. Why do I feel like an infant? "Come on," she saying gently, and it sounds like I'd break her heart if I don't do it.

I open my mouth, and she slides the pacifier between my lips. Now, I understand. It feels really good to have something to chew on, to keep me from sucking on my cheeks, and it keeps the saliva flowing.

I take it out when my dry-mouth is cured and look at Emily. "Why don't you have one of these?" I ask, before sticking it back in my mouth and sucking on it.

She turns to face me and opens her mouth. Whoa. I forgot about the green light that comes out of it. I see her slide her tongue between her upper row of teeth and cheek, and she fishes out a miniature glow stick, shoving it vertically against her teeth with her tongue for display. "It functions essentially the same way the pacifier does," she explains. "And it looks really cool when I talk."

She's kept her voice low and gentle the whole time, and I have to admit that I enjoy the sound of it. It's soothing. I remove the pacifier again so that I can talk. "It does," I agree. "You should do it more."

She smiles and looks shyly away. It's kind of cute. She digs into one of her pockets for something and produces two small pieces of plastic, only about three centimeters in length. She snaps them, and they glow a soft pink. She starts to tell a story, using them as props. Sometimes, she'd just wave them and make pretty patterns. Sometimes, she'd do coin tricks with them, letting them fall across fingers and knuckles. Sometimes, she'd act out part of the story with them.

I can't even remember what the story was about, but I know I was enthralled. I lay down to watch her, curling up in the corner. She sat cross legged at the opposite end of the mattress, facing me so that I could see her and her movements clearly.

It was really cool what she could do with those tiny little lights.

"Hey, you want to see something really cool?" she asks, and I can hear the excitement in her voice.

"Yeah," I say, feeling like I was young, and it was my birthday. I sat up in anticipation, mirroring her position.

She dug around in her pocket once more and produced another pink glow stick. She wove hand patterns for a minute, passing it from hand to hand. It was all very fluid and complicated. She could make it tumble through both sets of fingers, while the original two lined its path.

And then she started juggling them. At first, I was amazed with how well she could juggle such tiny objects, but the more I stared at her, and the tiny pink lights, the more I got taken away to some other place, some mystical forest where magic exists, and people bond around campfires, and shoot stars into the sky.

I gasp, and can feel my eyes start to water. This is what dreams are made of, after all.

"What is it?" she asks, worried, but she doesn't stop juggling, and I'm ever thankful for that.

"It's like you're playing with fireflies," I whisper.


	6. 5: Starling

**Author's Notes**

_Nope. No sexy times just, yet. Sorry. I've got to take the scenic route, because that's just how I am. Again, had a blast writing this. Emily characterization is fun._

_Warnings: frequent life-changing experiences, original American character, paint, sprinklers, hookahs, and catacombs_

_Special Note to Reviewer Wow! I have been craving a review like yours since I posted the prologue. I am so touched that you are enjoying this as much as you are. Thank you so much for your kind words._

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 5: Starling**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

She lets the glow sticks drop, and we're left staring at each other across the span of the bed, the black light blurring our features, turning us into caricatures of our original selves. I think we both realize that we just shared a moving, once in a lifetime experience that can never be gotten back, and we have to have a moment of silence in remembrance.

"I think that was the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced," I think she says, but I'm not entirely sure I heard her. I saw her mouth move, but it felt as though the words just appeared in my head. That's kind of cool.

"Yeah," I say, because I feel like I've just returned from the moon.

She sighs and looks around us, finding her phone sitting on the floor next to the mattress. She opens it and squints against the light it shines into her eyes. It does seem awfully bright. She looks at it for a moment, and then exclaims, "Whoa!"

"What?" I ask, playing with my pacifier.

"All the letters on my screen just got up and shifted to the right," she explains evenly, like it happens every day. "That was cool," she adds as an after thought.

I dig my own phone out of my pocket to see what she's talking about. My letters don't get up and move, but they do look projected and kind of 3-D, which I think is cool. Hmm. It's only midnight. It seems like I've been here forever.

"It's time to move on," she says sadly, looking around the room. She's right. We've gotten what this room has to offer. It seems almost blasphemous to stay in here much longer.

She tosses one of her tiny pink glow sticks at me, and pushes herself up off the mattress. I slide my hand across the fabric to poke the strip of plastic, before finally picking it up.

"Come on," she says, extending a hand to me to help me up. "Let's go on an adventure."

I take her hand and let her help me up, but I haven't stood in a while, and I almost forget how. I have to brace myself against her for a few seconds before I regain my balance. Skin feels interesting. I find myself stroking her hand where out skin meets absentmindedly, just because it feels nice.

She presses her lips together and looks away, and it's only then that I realize I've made her uncomfortable. I let go of her hand and mumble an apology. I don't even know why I did it.

What was I thinking?

Was I thinking at all?

"It's okay," she says, and I find her voice difficult to read. Then again, I'd think I'd find reading anything fairly difficult.

And without further discussion, we're outside of the room and back into the close and heavy hallway, feeling our way down. I notice that the stone against my hand is smooth and clean. That's when I realize that everything's been spotless, and I understand that somebody must have scrubbed the place down before the party started.

There was a lot of effort on someone's part in order to throw this thing together.

Whoever that person is, is my new hero.

The hallway turns, and I think we're somewhere behind the main hall. The hallway opens up into a large square room. Someone's covered the floor with a shag carpet, and dyed it into a lime green and black spiral. Effy's lying in the center of the room, moving her arms and legs along the carpet. She seems to be staring at the ceiling.

There's a guy with long hair and a goatee sitting cross legged in the corner next to an amp with a guitar laid across his lap. He's playing with an effect pedal, and he seems to favor the delay function. Emily makes her way over to him, and I get the feeling they know each other.

"What are you doing?" I ask Effy, as I approach her.

"I'm falling," is all she says.

"What?"

She reaches up and grabs my hand, pulling me down next to her. She points up towards the ceiling, and that's when I realize it's one giant mirror. It looks as though we're both falling into the center of the spiral.

I start to believe I really am after looking at it long enough.

I roll over onto my stomach, running my fingers through the carpet. I close my eyes and try to focus on the sounds the guy with the guitar is making. He's plucking notes and simple rhythms, but it sounds layered and intricate, due in no small part to his delay pedal.

"There are parallelograms coming out of your music," Effy calls to him from beside me.

He stops playing. "What?" he asks, sounding excited. He's got an American accent.

"There are parallelograms coming out of your music," Effy repeats, more forcefully.

"I can't believe you just said that," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. I open my eyes and look towards him to discover that he seems really moved by what Effy said. Emily's smiling, looking between him and Effy, clearly moved herself.

"Hey, do you want to run through that song?" he asks Emily after a few moments of silence. "I feel really like, in the zone, you know?" he says, gesturing to himself. "Whole albums are written on acid, man."

I start to wonder, hearing him and Emily talk like this, if this wasn't her idea, rather than Cook's.

"Yeah, Shane, we can do that," she says, still smiling. She walks across the room, arching an eyebrow as she passes by me. I think I really like her from this angle.

In the opposite corner from Shane and his guitar, there's a mike stand and another amp. It's in one of the corners on the wall with the door, which would explain why I didn't see it. I didn't even bother looking behind me. I look over to the other two corners, and see both a bass and a keyboard respectively.

What, no drums?

"Testing, testing," Emily's voice comes to me, loud, from across the room. "Play something," she tells Shane. He starts to play a simple riff. "Testing, 1, 2," she says again, though I can barely hear her. "Testing, testing," one more time. She's turned up the volume, and now I can hear her against his guitar.

His riff changes, slows down, becomes more groovy than rock. I feel myself floating away on it, somewhere deceptively dark.

Emily starts to sing not long after, and I don't know if I can describe it. It was pretty, that's the big thing. She started soft, and her voice built up and built up over time, to where she was belting out some of the most horrible lines. No, really. The song was so wonderfully gorgeous, but the lyrics were full of pain, and anger. She took me to places I didn't want to go, didn't even know I was capable of going, and didn't even know they existed.

Can she really feel all of the things she's shown me tonight all of the time?

She fades out, and he starts to play. It's obvious that he has no direction. I finally bring myself to look at Emily, and she's swaying to his music, her eyes closed. She's got her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, and it looks like she's on the brink of something.

She opens her mouth and starts to sing along with the guitar. There are no words, she's just vocalizing, but I'm off again to far away lands I don't bother thinking about on a daily basis. It's surprisingly full of soul and over way too quickly.

"Oh, my god," Emily says as she slides down to the floor on the other side of Effy. "This feels fantastic."

"I know," Effy says, still watching us fall on the ceiling. "That was really good," she says, absentmindedly.

"Yeah," Emily says softly. "It's fun."

I remember that my hand's clenched in a fist around something, and when I open my fingers, all I notice is a strange pink glow coming from my hand.

"Those things again?" Effy asks, and I know she's talking to Emily.

"Hey, you know they're fun," Emily retorts, digging into her pocket and tossing one on top of Effy.

She picks it up and holds it between her thumb and forefinger, examining it. "Yeah. They are," she admits.

I see Emily raise a leg into the air, only to swing it back down again. She uses it as momentum to spring up, and I'm amazed at her coordination skills. Surely, that was a risk. There was no way she went into that knowing she'd land on both feet.

At least she wobbled a little. That makes me feel better. She walks over to me, and reaches down to help me up again. "Well, we're off," she says. "We have more adventuring to do."

Effy raises a brow slightly, but leaves it at that. I take Emily's hand and let her pull me up, because following her just makes a lot of sense right now.

I'm not exactly thinking about things. For once in my life, I'm just going with the flow.

We leave the opposite way we came in, and the hallway is exactly the same, except we pass two sets of stairs, one going up and one going down before we get to another room like the one we were in earlier with the black light.

The room is bare, and there are paint supplies in the middle of the floor. Cook and Freddie are in here, painting on the walls. It's obvious they weren't the first ones to do this. Freddie's got blue paint all along his left forearm, and Cook's head is covered in green. They both look like they're having fun.

It's good to see them together. They don't hang out like they used to.

They both look up when they enter, and smile brightly. "Hey!" Cook yells, waving his paintbrush, splattering paint everywhere. "Join us!" he says, pointing to the paint on the floor.

Emily wanders over to Freddie's side to see what he's working on. It looks like some kind of nightmare mushroom from where I'm standing, but I can't be sure. She tilts her head and stares for a minute, watching him work. Then she turns around and goes to the paint, pouring some bright red onto a palette. She returns to Freddie's side and looks at his painting some more.

I'm amazed when she sticks her fingers into the paint and smudges it onto Freddie's creation.

She's not covering it up. It's like she's working with him. She's spreading the red around the object, spreading it outwards, like this mushroom is exploding color onto everything within its radius.

"Why don't you paint something, Naomi?" Cook asks me in my ear. I realize I've just been watching Emily and Freddie the whole time. I turn my gaze to Cook, and he's just smiling happily at me. He bends down and picks up a paintbrush, thrusting it in my direction.

I take it, but don't keep it for long. My eyes have caught sight of some pastels lying off to the side. My hands are going to hate me for days, but I just can't seem to help myself. I find a spot on the wall between a totem pole and an alien and start to draw without direction. I mix colors, and create curly cues the drive into darkness. I don't know how long I sat there for, but eventually, I have to reach in order to add onto anything, and the totem pole and alien have become a part of the reaching.

"Wow, that's really something, Naomi," Freddie says, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I had forgotten I wasn't alone.

"Oh, yeah," I hear Emily say. She sounds like she's in awe. "I love the use of color."

"Way to go, Naomikins," Cook says, coming up to me and wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "I get the feeling that that," he says, pointing to my spot on the wall, "is going to be one of the last things covered up in this layer of art."

I'm not quite sure I know what he means, but I smile at the compliment he's obviously trying to give.

Except now that I've stopped working I feel the pastel residue on my hands, and they feel unbearably dirty. This must be what Lady Macbeth felt in the infamous "spot" scene, because I really don't think they'll ever be clean. There's color caked into the creases of my palms and fingers, and no amount of rubbing is going to make it go away.

Emily grabs my hand before I can drive myself insane. "Calm down," she says softly, and I do. It just makes sense, after all.

Cook points to a door in the room that isn't the one we cam in, and I think he's trying to tell us to go through it. Emily nods and guides me over to the door, making sure to avoid the paint supplies strewn across the floor.

I don't know if there was a drain in the middle of the floor of this next room when the church was built, which is giant by the way, but there is, now. Someone has managed to set up a sprinkler system, and there are people running through them. On the far side of the room, I can see Katie and JJ running around each other and laughing.

"Come on," she says, lifting both of her shirts up and over her head and dropping them next to the door. "This'll make you feel better," she continues, unbuckling her belt. I don't know what she's talking about. I'm not even sure I register that she's speaking English to me. All I know is that she's standing in her bra and panties, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do, now.

She sighs and her shoulders slump and I'm fascinated with the way her collarbone moves. "Come on, Naomi," she says, stepping closer to me and pulling at the hem of my shirt. "Trust me; you don't want to do this fully clothed." She tugs upwards on my shirt, and my arms instinctively go up to let her disrobe me.

Oh, fuck!

She moves on to trying to undo my pants, and that's when my body starts responding to me. Her hands feel like fire, and I gasp at the sensation. I grab her wrist and push her away from me, my eyes wide. She looks at me gently, like you would a confused child. "It's okay," she says. "Just take your pants off and run through the sprinklers," she explains. "You'll feel better," she says again.

Oh. So that's what we're doing.

Well, okay.

I slide my pants down my leg and set my clothes in a heap next to Emily's. When I look up, she's already gone, and I've lost her in the mist.

Why does that bother me?

I walk out into the spray, and jump at how cold it is. The temperature is quickly overshadowed by how wonderful the water feels. I can feel every drop sliding against my skin, and I feel myself becoming rejuvenated by the second. I rub my hands together, watching as the water turns a dark purple as it runs across my palms and down my wrists. I run my hands through my hair, and across my face, and I feel better than I've ever felt before.

I start to run, because it just makes sense. I feel my muscles working in my legs, and I don't think I've ever been more aware of my own body.

Until I tripped over someone and we both went colliding onto the stone floor.

"Sorry, sorry," JJ's saying, scrambling to get up, and help me at the same time. I wonder what tonight's been like for old JJ. I'm sure it's been an experience.

Just like mine.

"Oh, good god," he says distractedly, and I turn to look at what has caught his eye.

This is fucking weird.

There are two Emilys.

There she is, standing in front of me, looking worried, and there she is, standing to the side, looking amused. I look between the two of them, trying to convince myself that I'm not going crazy.

I start to fold into myself, because the conundrum of Emily being in two places at once is such that I can't really handle. It completely defies the laws of physics, and my mind just can't wrap itself around the idea. It feels as though the entire world is pushing down on my head.

I think I even start to whimper.

"Fuck sake," the Emily standing off to the side mutters. The Emily standing in front of me glares at her, and looks at me with a sadly amused smile.

Wait a minute.

Katie.

Sisters.

Twins.

Right.

I look at both of the Emilys again, and quickly figure out which one is Katie. I don't believe they're identical like they say they are. Katie's got a rounder face, and wider eyes. Emily's eyes are soft. All of her features are generally softer. Emily's nose is also just a little bit thinner than Katie's.

I sigh and force myself up to my feet. I walk between Emily and Katie, back towards the door we came in at. I put my clothes on quickly; glad Emily talked me into taking them off in the first place. It felt good to get into something dry and warm.

As I pick up my pants, I notice something on the floor. It's the little glow stick again. It must have fallen out of my pocket.

Emily's putting her clothes on next to me, but I'm too busy looking at the glowing piece of plastic in my hand. "Is it supposed to change color?" I ask, noticing how the glow pulsated. It turned a darker shade of pink with every pulse.

Emily just laughs, and refuses to answer. Maybe there are no right answers right now.

"Come on," she says, smiling gently and leading me back out of the paint room and into the hallway.

"I wonder what's up those stairs," I say, noticing them for the second time.

"Let's find out," Emily says, grabbing my hand and leading me up the stairs.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the red light. We've managed to make our way up into the choir balcony. Emily goes down to the front row, sitting down next to a couple of guys and a hookah. I follow her, because really, what else am I going to do? I take a seat next to her and continue to examine the glow stick.

A few minutes go by, and then she's offering me a hose. I try to decline, but she's not having any of it. I take the hose and hold it to my mouth, inhaling whatever it is they've got going in the bowl.

I exhale slowly, savoring the taste of the smoke as it passes over my tongue. I can't place it, but the sheesha is delicious. Kind of fruity, but with a mellow sweetness to it. Emily smiles at my obvious approval.

I pass the hose on, and start playing with the glow stick she threw at me earlier. It's not as bright as it used to be, but it still glows. I move it in my fingers, turning it over and over. I think Emily and the two guys are pointing people out on the floor below us and profiling them for fun, but I'm not really paying attention.

"Oh, holy shit!" I exclaim a few minutes later.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Emily asks, whipping her head around to face me.

"My hand has six fingers," I explain, staring at it in horror.

She laughs and sighs, and I think she's relieved. Well, I'm not. My hand is not supposed to have six fingers. "It's just the tracers, dear," she says, stilling my hand. "You were moving all of your fingers and it only looked like there were six of them," she explains. "Look," she says, turning fully to me and taking my hand in hers. She counts out each of my fingers, finishing on five. "See? Only five," she says, smiling.

Well, that's a relief.

"How are you feeling?" she asks me. I wish I knew what to tell her. I don't really know how to describe anything right now. "Kinda heavy? Maybe numb?" she elaborates.

I nod dimly, and I realize I do feel these things. She nods slightly. "You're coming down," she says. "Things are going to start getting unpleasant," she explains.

I'm fairly certain that's something you should never tell a person in the waves of LSD.

Before I have time to panic over what she said, she's up and dragging me down the stairs, away from the red light and the men with the hookah. She guides me across the hallway and down another set of stairs.

It takes me a minute to figure out where we are. The hall is narrow and keeps branching off into other halls, which look like they branch off in turn. The walls are lined with old fashioned lanterns, though they're electric.

Oh, how fun. We're in the catacombs.

She guides me through turn after turn, and I'm afraid we're going to get lost down here. I feel a rush of panic course through me and reach for Emily's hand, not knowing what else to do. I look around, and realize that the shelves have been knocked out for the allowance of larger cubicles. There are old, gross mattresses lying in most of them, many of them already occupied.

That's just morbid.

It gets darker the deeper we go, until I can just make out Emily's figure in the dark. Finally, she chooses a spot, and sits herself down, patting the spot next to her. I do her one better, and lay down next to her.

She pulls the spliffs that Freddie rolled us earlier out of the wooden box in her pocket and lights them both. She hands the larger one to me, and tells me to smoke it. All of it.

I do as she tells me, and the pressure in my head lessens. There are just so many thoughts, and they all want to be heard, and I don't know how to sift through them. My mind is going a two hundred kilometers an hour, and I'm afraid it's going to explode.

The weed slows it, though, and now I know why Cook told us to hold onto them until we needed them.

"Jesus, it's nearly four in the morning," Emily mumbles, putting out her spliff on the floor. "Come here," she says, taking mine from me and putting it out as well. She turns me to face her, and lies me down next to her. "Try and get some rest," she says, brushing the hair out of my eyes. Her touch is anchoring somehow, and I take comfort in it.

"I don't know that I can," I say, curling into her. "My head…"

"I know," she whispers in my ear, wrapping an arm around me, and making tiny circles on my back with her fingertips. "But try anyway. Just close your eyes."

I did, and shortly after, my body began to feel as though something was crawling, just underneath the surface of my skin. I tensed, and Emily tightened her hold on me.

Thank god, because I think I would have tried to tear my own skin off if she hadn't been holding onto me.

They say the come down from LSD is the hardest there is.


	7. 6: Battle Of The Minds

**Author's Notes**

_This chapter was difficult for me to write, and required many walks in the cold. Yes, we're finally leaving the church of drugs. The thing you should know about LSD is that it's like being born, living that life, and dying, all within the span of your trip. I'd rather not answer the "have you done it?" question definitively, which probably gives you an answer, anyway. Oh, yeah, I've also thrown one of those parties, though on a much smaller scale. We only had a house at our disposal._

_Warnings: relationship growth with secondary characters, Psychologist!Effy, Drunk!Gina_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 6: Battle of the Minds**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

I didn't sleep so much, as I rested with my thoughts. My body was tired, I could feel it. I was completely wiped, but my mind just never turned itself off. If I had been by myself, I would have been tossing and turning, and getting up and pacing, and getting back down, and I know I would have worn myself out even more.

So for that, I was glad that Emily kept me still.

I wish I knew how she managed to keep herself still.

I don't know how long I laid there in the near darkness, but eventually, a vibration next to her made Emily release her hold on me, and fumble with her phone.

I suddenly feel cold.

The display lights up her face, and in the rays I can see color spectrums. God, am I still tripping? I hope not.

Emily must have gotten a text message, because she starts to type on her phone. A few seconds later, she slides it into her pocket and leans over me. "Naomi," she says. "Where's your phone?" Her voice is gravelly from nonuse, and I feel a tingle shoot through my spine.

I grumble and roll over, fumbling in the darkness for my cell. I find it over by the wall. It's turned off. I show it to Emily, and she nods her approval before standing up. "Time to go," she says, reaching a hand out to me. I think it must be habit by now.

Except this time, I don't take it. I think I need to prove to myself that I'm back to normal, and can get up on my own. Last night felt like a soulquake. I need to get familiar with the aftermath.

She doesn't say anything about it. She doesn't react in any way. It's as though the fact that she just held me for a few hours, and saved me from myself never happened. She just turns, and leads me back through the many turns and twists we made last night, finding the stairs out of the catacombs easily, almost like she already knew the layout of the place.

Hold on.

Seriously?

"There you guys are!" Cook yells when he sees us enter the main hall. The whole group's already gathered there, and waiting on us so that we could go home. I wonder what time it is. It looks like it's early morning outside.

"Hey, Emily," Shane calls from the altar. "Gig Wednesday night. Interested?"

"Fuck yeah," she yells back to him, smiling. "Call me with the details."

He nods and throws her a thumbs up. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about him, yet. He seems kind of… greasy.

We all file out of the church and back into Cook's van. Everything's outlined in blue and red, and cast in a heavenly glow. I pull my phone out to discover that it's eight in the morning. Were Emily and I really only down there for four hours?

Everyone's silent on the ride back to town. I guess we're all exhausted. I have every intention of marching straight up to my room when I get home and sleeping until I have to wake up for class tomorrow morning. That's all there is to it.

I'm the first to get dropped off, because I was going to be the first to get picked up. I stumble out of the van, and turn to close the door, but Emily stops me. "Could you hold on for a second?" she asks Cook. She doesn't bother to wait for an answer, though. She climbs out after me, meeting me halfway up my walkway. "That doesn't count, you know," she says to me, hands in her pockets.

"What do you mean?" I ask, confused. I don't have the brain capacity for this right now.

"Last night didn't count," she says again. "As your some other time."

I stare at her dumbly because it seems like such a left-field thing to say. Apparently, apologizing wasn't enough. I actually had to keep the suggested rain check. Well, it's only fair, I guess. I wondered if I gave off the impression that I thought last night was said rain check. I don't know.

I'm not even sure what the requirements are for hanging out with her. "Okay," I say, because there's nothing else worth saying.

"Okay," she says, standing up straighter and turning to go back to the van. "You should eat something," she says over her shoulder as she's walking away.

Sure thing. Right after my coma.

*****

Some people use the weekend to recover from the week. I use the week to recover from the weekend. I think I was literally fucked up every waking moment this past weekend, and now that it's Monday, I really regret it. I'm still not feeling one hundred percent when I wake up.

I think about skipping. It would be so easy to just stay in bed. Still, I force myself up and out the door. I don't feel hung over, and I'm very sober. The sun seems brighter than I remember it, but that's probably just my eyes playing tricks on me. I just feel used up.

It's because I haven't caught up on my sleep. I can tell I'm going to be doing a lot of that this week.

I can't concentrate in class, and I really wish I could. I keep thinking back to my acid trip, and embarrassment washes over me. I acted like a complete idiot. Sure, everybody else did to, but I have this thing about maintaining dignity in every situation.

Don't show your ass in public, after all.

I shouldn't have needed babysitting like that.

But the fact shouldn't have needed it doesn't change the fact that I did, and Emily was a fantastic babysitter. She made the experience enjoyable, and showed me magic and wonders, and kept me from getting lost inside my own head by keeping me out of it.

She just seems to know about so many wonderful things that I never even think of.

I do all of the things in class that you're not supposed to do. I daydream out the window. I stare at the clock, trying to make time go faster. I check my phone for messages. There aren't any, of course, because everybody knows I'm class, and I usually bitch at people for texting me during those.

The best part about being in University, however, is that my professors don't give a shit.

I gather my things and make my way to the door as quietly as I can. I make eye contact with my professor, who nods once, and continues with his lecture. I'll have to schedule a time to go talk to him, to find out what I'm about to miss. He's usually pretty okay with that, though. It shows that I'm putting forth an effort even if I did leave halfway through class. I've never made a habit out of it. For all her knows, there could be an emergency.

I won't tell him that it's just because I can't concentrate on him.

I knew going to class was going to be useless.

I find an empty metal mesh picnic table in the courtyard between the business and science buildings, and make myself at home, lighting a cigarette. Finally quit smoking, my ass.

A small spot of blue on the ground catches my eye, and I go over to it. I pick it up and realize it's a plastic bottle cap. Great, now I'm playing with trash. I take it back to the table with me and set it on the surface. Wow. I must be more out of it than I thought.

I pick up my lighter and start playing with it, turning it over in my fingers. I lower it beneath the table and light it.

Hmm.

I move the flame under the bottle cap, and watch as a hold melts in the center of it. It catches fire, and I let the flame in the lighter go out. I watch, fascinated, as the flame spreads to the edges of the bottle cap, and melted plastic drips down to the ground.

Hey, I never said I wasn't easily amused.

"Ring of fire."

My head snaps to my left to find Effy standing a few feet away from me, cigarette in hand. I look back down to my bottle cap, only to discover the fire's already gone out. All that's left is a bright blue scar on the table. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?" I ask her without looking up.

"Just got out," she explains, sitting down next to me.

We sit in silence for a while and it feels familiar and comfortable. It was nice to have someone you could just sit with.

"This weekend was intense," she finally breaks the silence.

"Yeah," I say, putting out my cigarette on the bottom of my shoe. "Hey," I say, suddenly thinking of something. "You don't know anything about some kind of gig Emily has on Wednesday, do you?" I don't know why I asked Effy that. I don't know why I would have asked anybody that. It just kind of came out.

She shakes her head, taking a final drag on her cigarette. "JJ might know," she offers.

I nod, and I don't miss the look she's giving me. It's the "I know what you're hiding," look, which is funny, because I'm not hiding anything. Obviously.

"Did you really spend your entire trip with her?" she asks. Effy's been talking more than usual, and it's starting to get on my nerves.

"Well, she held my spliff hostage," I explain.

"Right," she says, looking across the courtyard. "I saw the way you were together."

"What way is that?" I ask, dully. I'm really not in the mood for mental chess right now.

"You let your guard down. You let her show you her world."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with experiencing new things, is there?" I ask, and quickly wish I hadn't.

She looks sharply at me, and I know I've just cornered myself. "No, there isn't," is all she says.

She gets up and throws her bag over her shoulder. "Got another class," she says. I nod. I actually had a pretty light term, and was actually finished for the day. I waved goodbye to her, and was left staring into my little blue scar.

I light another cigarette and scroll through the contacts in my phone, finally finding JJ's number. _"Hey, Jay,"_ I type into a new message. _"Have a good weekend?"_

Two drags later, my phone vibrates with his reply. _"Oh, yes. I had a great weekend. You were there. At the party. That was something… How was yours?"_

I smile over the fact that JJ can ramble, even in text. I expected nothing less. _"Intense. Hey, you wouldn't happen to know if Emily's free on Wednesday, would you?"_

A few minutes, then, _"Why don't you ask Emily?"_

"_Because I'm asking you."_ Does he have to know everything all the time? Stop trying to overcomplicate things, JJ.

Or, maybe he was trying to simplify them.

"_I'm not sure, but she said something about making an appearance at some place called Rain."_

"_Thank you, JJ."_

I had never heard of the place before, but I figured I could easily find it by asking around, or looking online. You can get a map for just about anywhere, these days. Just another reason Generation Y has become Generation Why Bother. Everything's just so easily obtainable.

I've never had to work at anything in my life.

My phone vibrates again, and I jump, because I wasn't expecting another text message, especially from JJ. The "thank you" kind of ended the conversation, I thought. _"You know, it's funny, she literally just told me about that. How did you know?"_

I roll my eyes at my cell phone. Just stay out of it, JJ. _ "I didn't. That's why I asked you."_

"_Right. Okay."_

I'm sure he doesn't believe me, but I don't respond to him. I'm already bored with this conversation.

There was no point in sticking around campus, I decided. I gathered up my things and started walking in the direction of my house. I didn't even make it out of the parking lot before a car pulled up beside me. "Want a ride?" Katie asks from behind the wheel.

Have I just stepped into the Twilight Zone?

I look around, like an idiot, because surely she's not talking to me. There must be some fit guy standing behind me that she's trying to mount. That's the only explanation I can come up with, except I can't seem to find the guy she's talking to.

Which, I guess, only leaves me.

"Yes, you," she says, annoyance laced in her voice. "Get in," she says.

When did the option get taken away from me?

Without a word, I open the door and slide into the passenger seat, taking special care to fasten my safety belt. You never know what can happen in situations like these, after all.

She starts to drive in the direction of my house, and we sit in silence for a few moments. I try to enjoy it because I know it won't last long. There's an agenda here. I can feel it. There's no way I'm going to let my guard down around Katie. It's a disaster waiting to happen.

Sure enough, Katie speaks, and I wish she would have just gotten right to the point. Do I really have to play this game? "What are you doing?" she asks me, her voice low and even.

Is she angry?

"What do you mean?" I ask, too tired to fight.

"What are you doing with Emily?" she clarifies.

I sigh and lean my head against the glass of the window. "You don't have to worry, Katie. Nothing's going on."

"That's exactly what I'm fucking worried about," she says, gritting her teeth.

Now, I'm confused. "I thought you hated even the idea of your sister with a girl. What the fuck is your problem?"

She pulls over so that she can face me. "You really don't fucking get it, do you, Naomi?" she asks, raising her voice. "She had finally started to accept the fact that you were unattainable. She was finally starting to move on. Now, here you are, dressing in her clothes, and spending your acid trip with her."

I can't think right now. None of this computes. This isn't the way things are. "She's the one who found me," I explain, trying to calm the fire I see building in Katie's eyes.

"Acid binds you to things, you fucking idiot!" she yells. "You will never look at anything you experienced that night the same way. I fucking hated techno before Saturday night, and now I have this ridiculous profound appreciation for it. Why do you think we all rotated who we spent time with?"

I can feel my mouth working, but no words are coming out. Why can't I speak? "I didn't," I force out. "I mean, I don't think of her…"

"You don't have to," she says quietly. She sounds sad. "Stop thinking. Stop thinking, and under it all, you'll feel it. You can't experience a night like that with someone and not have a special place for them," she explains. She sighs, and for the first time, I see Katie Fitch slump. "She'll feel it. She'll feel it ten times stronger than you do, and she'll have to work to bury her feelings again."

I was starting the picture. But none of this was my fault. I've yet to lead Emily on. I've never told her we were anything other than what we are. Of course, what that is, I'm not quite sure. I don't even know that we're friends. "Why do you care?" I lash out. "Don't you hate that she's gay."

She's quiet, and stares out of the windshield. "I don't like it. I'd rather she weren't," she admits. "I think she'll be incredibly lonely." She turns to me and sighs again. "But she's still my sister."

I should be sad. I should be touched by this vision of sisterly love. But I'm not. Especially since I'm not sure what she wants of me. I open the door and put a foot down on the road. "You know," I say, turning to face Katie before getting out of her car. "You made sure Emily and I never got close from the start. In fact, you made sure to alienate me from everyone." I lift myself out of the car, but stick my head back in the door to add, "And Emily didn't help."

Fuck all of it. It wasn't worth the trouble. I slam her car door and continue walking home. I was not going to be lectured by the reason I kept everyone at arm's length. I'm too fucking tired, and she has no right in the first place.

Great. I'm just working myself up.

As soon as I get home, I make my way to my mother's liquor cabinet. People can say what they want, but living at home definitely had its advantages, especially with such a liberal mother like mine.

"What's wrong, dear?" she asks, catching me rifling through the cabinet. "You only come after mine in emergencies, when you haven't had time to procure your own."

"I'd really rather not talk about it," I say, emerging from the cabinet with a bottle of Tequila in my hand. I take a swig straight out of the bottle and my mother glares at me.

"Naomi," she chastises. "Use a shot glass."

I roll my eyes and stomp over to the cabinet. It sounds juvenile, but my mother's attitude towards my alcohol intake amuses me, and it's more for show than anything else. I pull down two shot glasses and return to the table.

"Oh, do get some limes, dear," she says, smiling.

I sigh and fetch the limes from the fridge, setting them and a knife down on the table. She quickly cuts the limes into wedges, and soon enough we're challenging each other to shot after shot.

So much for using the week to recover from my weekend. I'm going to die before I'm thirty.

"Why won't you tell me what's wrong?" my mother tries again, several shots later. "I mean, Tequila is a tough thing to turn to for a young girl. Especially with her mother. I remember some wild nights with Tequila."

Oh, no. I'd better speak before she starts reminiscing about her golden years. That always leads to frightening mental images, and on occasion, nightmares.

"It's nothing, Mum," I say, waving my hands and smiling. I really do feel better, but I don't know if it's because of her or the alcohol. Very possibly both. "People just… expect things from me."

"Well, that's silly," she says, downing another shot.

"Yeah," I nod, holding a lime wedge out to her.

"Do you expect things from you?"

"Well, yeah," I say, shrugging. "I expect to get a degree in politics and eventually rule the world."

"Then that's what you should do."

Oh, Mum. How would I ever get along without you?

Eventually, I make my way up the stairs so that I can have a bath. They always did help relax me. Plus, they're just nice.

But as I was sitting in the water, I noticed that the ripples in the water were outlined in red and blue. They were never outlined in red and blue before.

Jesus Christ, am I going to hallucinate for the rest of my fucking life?

I push the thought to the back of my mind, and try to enjoy my bath.

That night, I sleep like a log.

*****

Tuesday came and went without fanfare, thank God. I don't think I could have handled anything else fucked up happening to me. Everyone needed a break sometime.

So, when Wednesday came around, I finally felt like myself again. It's strange, how much I missed me. I tried not to get too comfortable, though, being almost certain that I wasn't going to end this night sober.

I had decided to show up to Emily and Shane's gig the moment I heard about it. I was just too curious to stay away.

It never occurred to me to ponder the reason behind the curiosity.

I was able to find directions online, just like I knew I would. Turns out, the club was fairly new, which explains why I had never been there before. You don't hang out with Cook and stay out of the club scene. It just doesn't happen. In fact, I was surprised he still hadn't heard about it.

Maybe it was in a bad neighborhood. It was in an area we generally never went, after all. Maybe I should take someone with me.

That's ridiculous. I'll be fine. Let no one think that Naomi Campbell can't live up to her name. I'm not afraid of shoes.

My only snag was that I didn't know what time Emily's thing was supposed to start. If I went too early, I risked her catching sight of me while they're setting up. If I went too late, well, then, my curiosity would never be satisfied.

I decided nine o'clock sounded like a good time. Surely, Emily and Shane were a small deal. There was no way anyone would put them on later. That's just bad for business.

I realized very quickly why we didn't frequent the neighborhood the club was in. There were rainbow flags hanging from the street lamps, and the establishments had names such as "Cockpit."

Fantastic. I've managed to land myself smack dab in downtown Gayville. I should have known, honestly.

But, I've come too far to give up, now. I move down the street, finding the sign for Rain about halfway down. Oh, the things I've seen in that short walk. I can't talk about it. I'm too scarred.

I actually kind of like the atmosphere this place as got going. It's not so much of a club, but more of a lounge. It's all done up in blues and greens, with raindrop patterns along the walls in bright pink. There are couches along the walls, and a small stage towards the back. The bar is off to the side, and I realize that I am, in fact, too early. I quickly spot Emily and Shane having a drink. I look back towards the stage and notice it's already got all sorts of equipment on it, and I hope they'll go on, soon.

To avoid being seen, I make my way over to a particularly crowded couch, and stand idly by the group. Some girl (I think it's a girl) looks at me like I'm crazy, but I ignore her. I'm allowed to stand wherever I want to, thank you very much.

Still, I'd really like a drink, and I'm not allowed to get one.

I keep her in my sights, careful not to get caught. I'm not sure why I'm trying to remain unseen. I intend to see her later. I just get the feeling that it would be best for me to be invisible right now, so that's what I'm going to be. After all, I don't even see JJ here, and he's actually allowed to know about it.

Or maybe I just like for things to be complicated. Simple's far too boring, after all.

Shane looks at his watch, and motions for Emily to follow him. I watch as she takes a deep breath and trails after him, heading towards the stage. I see them meet with two other guys, one with shaggy black hair and a lot of eyeliner. The other one's got long blonde hair, and looks like he's twelve. It looks like they all might be reminding each other of common mistakes to watch out for. The guy with the eyeliner is making all kinds of big gestures, mostly to the twelve year old.

It's kind of funny to look at from here.

The lights dim and spotlights appear on the stage. I look back at the group, and watch them file onto the stage. The twelve year-old sets himself up behind the drum set, and the guy with eyeliner picks up a bass. I knew Shane played the guitar, and he didn't disappoint by picking that up.

I watched Emily slide her hands into her back pockets as she made her way up to the stage, picking up the microphone that was lying on the floor.

This place couldn't even spring for a stand?

"Hey, guys," she said into the mike, greeting the crowd. There was some clapping and a holler or two, but the response wasn't overwhelming. I immediately became afraid for them.

"I don't usually sing with these guys," she explains, gesturing to the three men on stage with her. I find myself moving closer to the stage involuntarily. "But they're called Black Jesus."

That got a few laughs, but it was obvious she didn't have them eating out of her hand. The closer I got, the more I realized how nervous she was. She was smiling, and playing it off well. If I didn't know her as well as I do, I never would have caught it.

Wait a minute. Was Katie right? Did Saturday night change things? I had managed to convince myself that she was full of shit, but here I was, noticing things about Emily that I couldn't possibly notice unless I knew her.

The guy with the eyeliner took a tumbler and dragged it along the neck of his bass, creating a really cool, scraping sound. He did this several times, playing several notes until Shane joined him on the guitar. The drums were soon to follow, sending a groovy ambience through the club. I already felt like swaying.

I don't know why, but I continued to move closer and closer to the stage, especially after Emily started singing. It was more of a crooning, really. If music could be described as smoky, that's how I would describe their music. Emily's vocals were low, in contrast to what I've heard of her before. I liked this sound better. It suited the husky texture she's got to her voice. It was haunting, and magnetic, and I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

And as soon as she saw me, I wished I had never even shown up. She tried not to glare at me. She tried to ignore me and pretend I didn't exist, but her eyes would inevitably fall on me, and she'd glare ever so slightly.

But there was no point in leaving. I'm already here and she's already seen me. There's no point in trying to pretend I was never here, and I'll have to face the Emily Fitch storm sooner or later.

So I might as well get it over with.


	8. 7: Every Cell Has Been Taught To Think

**Author's Notes**

_This chapter was slower getting out, because dialogue is a very delicate thing to write, and this chapter is pretty much entirely dialogue. It was made even more fragile, because it was mostly a group scene. Always difficult to pull off, and I wanted to make sure I got it right. This thing seems to have taken on a life of its own. Sorry._

_Warnings: emo lyrics, original American characters abound, Emily schemes, twelve pages long_

_Would like a beta reader. Any takers?_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 7: Every Cell Has Been Taught To Think**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

She tries to get Shane's attention towards the end of the song, but he's too wrapped up in his music to pay any attention. She moves over to him as the song comes to an end so that she can whisper something to him as soon as it's over. He looks up at her, and into the crowd, and an evil grin slides onto his face. Emily looks completely horrified as he gestures to the other two guys on stage with them, and relays some information. The both nod, similar grins creeping onto their faces.

What the hell is going on here?

The bass player starts plucking out a note, setting a pace and rhythm. Shane comes in shortly after with a simple melodic riff. "Alright, we're going to do something a little different," Emily says into the microphone. She forgets to smile. The twelve year old comes in with a typical rock beat, and I know this is the wrong venue for this song, and it's probably for my benefit.

When she sings, it's almost a whisper. I can't make out all of what she's saying, just little haunting lines. _"Goodbye to sleep… take apart your head… goodbye to love… right against the wall, chew it up and swallow it."_

The chorus comes, and the guitars wail, and her voice turns from the soft whisper into something between singing and screaming. I had no idea she could do that. _"You're brought back but you're running. I'll find sleep in the end tonight. I can't shake this little feeling, I never do anything right."_

The music evens out again as the second verse comes up, and she drops her voice back down, though it's stronger than the whisper from earlier. I can make out this verse in its entirety, and I don't like what I hear. _"Goodbye you liar. Well, you sipped from the cup, but you don't own up to anything, then you think you will inspire. Take apart your head. Take apart the demon in the attic to the left."_

They dive into the chorus again, and her voice rises. This time, she continues to rise, repeating the last line of the chorus several times. They all drop energy together, and Emily's voice sounds full of emotion. _"Take me; take me back to your bed. I love you so much that it hurts my head. Say, I don't mind you under my skin, I'll let the bad parts in, the bad parts in. When we were made we were set apart. Life is a test, and I get bad marked. Now some saint has got the job of writing down my sins. Now, the storm is coming, the storm is coming in." _ Her voice grew and grew, until she was screaming at the storm. _"I never say anything right!"_

They drop back down once again, Emily sounding angry and frustrated. _"Take me; take me back to your bed. I love you so much that it hurts my head. Say, I don't mind you under my skin. I'll let the bad parts in, the bad parts in. Well, you're my favorite bird, and when you sing I really do wish that you'd wear my ring. No matter what they say I am still the king," _at this she looks defiantly across the audience. _ "Now, the storm is coming." _ Her voice has dropped back down to a whisper. I can barely hear the last line. _"The storm is coming in…"_

It was a great performance. That was their best song all night, but it was not what should have been played in this club, and it shows. I'm left shell shocked as the people around me murmur to each other in confusion.

I kind of want to punch them all.

They switch musical styles back to that strange, progressive, trip-hop for the rest of their set. It definitely suited the atmosphere better, and by the end they had actually won over the crowd, though I don't know if it was so much their playing, as it was Emily's presence onstage. The place had a mostly female clientele, and most of them couldn't take their eyes off her.

Huh. Emily's popular in this world.

I loiter next to the stage when they finish, watching them clear their equipment. I want to help, but I'm afraid I'd just be in the way. Emily's not looking at me, but to be fair, I'm not exactly trying to get her attention. I know she knows I'm here, though. Her ignorance is too deliberate.

I move over to her when most of their equipment is packed up. They're mostly just standing around, now. "That was something," I say to Emily's back. It's easier than trying to compliment her to her face.

She turns around to face me, and she doesn't look happy. In fact, it looks like she's trying to contain herself. "What are you doing here, Naomi?"

I open my mouth to answer, but I'm interrupted by the twelve year-old. He's got a mop of white blonde hair, and I can easily see him on a skateboard. "Well, if it isn't the girl with six fingers," he says, smiling, coming up to Emily and throwing an arm around her shoulders. He's also got an American accent, though it's obvious that he and Shane are from two different areas. I wonder how he knows about my six finger episode, but I eventually register him as one of the guys with the hookah. "How's it going?" he asks me, letting his eyes rake over my body. A gross grin slides onto his face.

Great. He's Cook. Only worse.

I ignore him, and keep my attention on Emily. I refuse to answer her question, though. "I didn't know you could do that screaming thing with your voice," I say, gesturing to my throat.

"Oh, yeah, I taught her to do that," the twelve year-old says. He reaches up and massages Emily's neck, just below her jaw. "It's all about loosening those throat muscles up, isn't it, baby?" he asks, leaning into her.

Um… eww.

"Fuck off, AJ," she says, shoving him away from her. He laughs, and walks over to a couple of cables, picking them up and taking them out the back door.

"He seems like an interesting fellow," I say, watching him leave.

Emily rolls her eyes. "He's AJ," she says, as if that explains everything. Maybe it does. She arches her eyebrow and looks at me expectantly. She still wants me to answer her original question, but I'm not going to.

Mostly because I don't know the answer.

She opens her mouth, and I know she's going to voice the question again, but I'm saved when Shane and the guy with the eyeliner walk up to us. I take a closer look at the bassist, because I haven't had the chance to, yet. He's got black hair that hangs lankly around his face, bright blue eyes surrounded by eyeliner the likes of Effy would be proud of, and his lip is pierced on his left side. He's pretty in a creepy kind of way, and I know I've seen him somewhere before. He must have been the other guy with the hookah.

I wonder how Emily knows these guys.

Shane's got a plastic jar in his hand, full of bills and coins. He raises it and shakes it in Emily's direction, getting her attention. "Not counted yet, but it looks like we did pretty well."

"That's surprising," she says, looking at the jar. "We didn't exactly have them eating out of the palms of our hands, did we?" she asks. "Though, that might have been different if you hadn't decided to ambush me with that second song." Her face has turned angry, but Shane looks more amused than anything else.

"Hey, it had to be done," he says, throwing a glance at me. "Besides, I knew we'd clean house no matter what we played," he beams at Emily.

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" she asks, hands on her hips. I can tell it's just for show, and the anger she feels towards me is dissipating by the second. Thanks, Shane.

He laughs and gestures around us. "Lesbian bar," he says, and then points to Emily. "Hot girl singer. It was a no brainer."

She punches him playfully in the arm. "So, the only reason you wanted me to sing for you is because of my looks?" she asks, and I'm frightened by how much she sounds like Katie.

"Of course not," he says, wrapping his arms around her. "I've been telling you for months that I want you to sing for us permanently. You're the one who keeps turning us down," he explains. I almost feel as though I'm imposing on something. He releases her from the hug and extends his hand to me. "Nice to see you again, Naomi," he says, shaking my hand.

I smile. "Nice to see you again, too," I say politely. Maybe this guy isn't so bad after all.

AJ has come back inside, and is now standing with the rest of them. It feels like I'm being ganged up on, all three of them on Emily's side, and me, all alone, looking on. "Naomi!" AJ catcalls. "That means you moan, right?" he asks, sidling up to me.

Again. Eww.

Also, has originality completely died?

"Wait, so, none of the rest of you are gay?" I ask the group as a whole. I figured they might have been, since they landed a gig on Gay Street. Who goes looking for gigs on Gay Street when you're not homosexual?

"Oh, no," comes the general consensus from the group.

"Well, I'm bi," the bassist says. Why am I not surprised? "I'm Bryan, by the way," he says, offering me his hand. This guy's also American, and also from a different area than Shane or AJ. How did they all wind up here?

Shane and Bryan can stay, I decide. AJ's just weird.

"Hey, let's go count this," AJ suggests, taking the tip jar away from Shane and heading out the back door again.

"Yeah, yeah, alright," Shane says, waving him off. "Come hang out with us for a while," he tells me with a wave of his hand and I find myself accepting without even thinking about Emily, or the fact that she's currently shaking her head discreetly. He just seems like a really nice guy.

"What the fuck?" I ask when we get outside. Parked behind the club is the van we all went to the church in together. I thought it was Cook's.

Emily looks at me and arches an eyebrow, and the pieces start snapping together. That's what Cook and Emily talked about when they left the pub that day. They had planned the whole party, even got one of these guys to lend Emily their van, who then let Cook drive. They played the whole thing like the party was Cook's find, when Emily was behind it all. Why didn't she just tell us? Why go to so many lengths?

Then again, that party took a lot of planning, and work. She talked to Cook that day. What was going on here?

"What?" Bryan asks me. I'm sure he's concerned, but he kind of reminds me of a male Effy, and his face hasn't changed.

"Uh, nothing," I say, shaking my head. This was a conversation I needed to have with Emily. Later.

All of their equipment is put away in boxes and stacked next to the van. I wonder briefly why they don't go ahead and put it away, but my question gets answered without me having to vocalize it. Shane yanks open the back door and climbs inside, throwing himself in the back corner seat and unfolding the tray from the wall.

Emily climbs in after him, claiming the same seat she did the last time we were in this van. AJ's next, and he pauses to hump the air on top of Emily before flopping down next to Shane. "You know I love you there, babe," he says. She flips him off without a word. Does this kid never stop?

Bryan climbs in next and lowers the back on the remaining seat as far as it will go, sitting on the back rest and leaning against the wall of the van. I climb in last, and he gestures to the seat, and I take it.

Shane's already counted the contents of the tip jar, and is dividing it between the four of them. He hands a wad of cash to Emily, and she sets on counting it. "Wow, that's rent for next month," she says, smiling.

"See? Told you," he says, pocketing his own share. "Couldn't have done it without you. Oh, this is for you, too," he continues, holding a piece of paper out to her.

She reads it and starts laughing. She holds it up and reads it out loud. "Emily, I really enjoyed your performance tonight. Call me sometime." She waves the piece of paper in front of her. "There's a fucking phone number," she says, laughing.

The rest of us laugh along with her. "Are you gonna call it?" AJ asks.

"Of course not," she says, looking incredulous. "I have no idea who this person is. She could be seventy."

"Well, hell, if you don't want it, I do," he says, snatching the piece of paper away from her. She arches a brow at him. "What?" he says, holding his hands out. "You refuse to fuck me, I've got to get it from somewhere," he explains.

"You're insane," she says, and leaves it at that.

There's a slight lull in conversation, and I decide to pounce on the opportunity. "So how long have you guys known Emily?"

Shane looks over at her and appears contemplative. "We met what, Emily? About four, five months ago?"

"Sounds about right, yeah," she confirms.

"I was painting abstract portraits on the street corner," he says, reminiscing. "Emily passed right by me, of course."

"Of course," she interrupts. "You're greasy."

I try not to laugh, but one forces its way out of my nose, anyway. I'm saved any embarrassment, though, because Shane laughs, anyway. "Yeah," he says, nodding. "I guess I am kind of greasy. Anyway," he continues. "I was doing these abstract portraits for ten a pop when I see this red haired siren walk down the street. She was so commanding of her person and her space, and had her eyes fixed on her destination, regardless of how far away it was. And nothing else in the world mattered."

I look over at Emily, but she's leaning her forehead against the glass of the window beside her, and I think she might be embarrassed.

"So, naturally," he continues, leaning back in his seat. "I had to paint her. She thought I was crazy when I asked her. I had to run half a block to even catch up with her."

"Well, you looked like a crazy person," Emily reasons. I can see that.

"Wait, so you drew Emily? Abstractly? Can I see it?" I asked, sounding excited. I was excited. The way he made her sound was so striking, and I wanted to see her the way that he did.

"I haven't been able to, yet," he says, sadly. "There's more to this one that meets the eye," he explains, point to Emily. "And I don't want to miss out on putting whatever it is onto canvas. It's almost like…" he trails off, trying to find his words. "Emily represents the freedom that my country is supposed to. Now, hold on," he says, afraid he's offended me. He hasn't. "Everybody over there says that they're so free to be whatever they want, but they're not really. They're all bound by culture rules that they've never bothered to question. Hell, almost everybody over there still thinks it's perfectly okay to dictate who we can and cannot marry. Emily, here," he says, gesturing to her, 'is her own person. She is whole and she is complicated, and she doesn't go into a box. She represents the freedom that my country is supposed to."

I'm reminded of an old quote I heard a while back. I don't remember where I heard it, or who said it, or even why it was brought up in the first place. But the quote was, "Sometimes, you have to see someone else love something in order to learn how." I hadn't understood it at the time, but now I'm beginning to.

"So why doesn't she sing with you guys all the time?" I ask, looking back and forth between the three guys.

"You'd have to ask her that," Bryan says.

AJ blows him off, waving a hand in his direction. "Stop being so fucking cryptic, man," he says, and I see Bryan set his mouth. Interesting. "Emily wants to single-handedly revive the riot girl movement," he explains.

"It's not dead," she insists.

He smirks. "It was dead when it was made."

She flips him off again, and I get the feeling this is like a game to both of them. I can't help but smile as I watch her interact with the three of them.

"But you know all this, right?" Shane asks me, his brow furrowed. I can see the point behind his eyes, and I have to look away. The truth is, I don't know Emily. Apparently, not at all.

Emily throws him a look and turns to me. "They've got their own sound going. Kind of an experimental ambient trip-hop thing going, and while it's really cool, it's not something I want to focus on," she explains, shrugging her shoulder.

Why don't I believe her?

"Yeah, you wanna hear?" Shane asks me, and he looks so eager and excited that I can't possibly turn him down.

I nod, and he gets up and maneuvers himself to the driver's seat. He rifles through a CD sleeve and finally pulls out a blank silver disc, sliding it into the system.

I'm beginning to suspect that music is involved in almost every aspect of Emily's life, and I wonder why I never knew this before.

Shane turns the main lights off, but keeps the fairy lights on, casting us in a dim glow as the van is filled with strange wailings. It's an acquired taste, most definitely, but it's not bad. It's definitely audio surf material, and I think I'd enjoy it more if I were stoned.

As though he could read my mind, Bryan pulls a small cigar box out from underneath the back seat and opens it. The van is immediately filled with the smell of marijuana. Strong marijuana. The kind of marijuana that smells like a strange mixture of fruit loops and puppy shit.

"Good idea, man!" AJ exclaims, pointing emphatically to Bryan as he starts to break up the weed in his box. That kid sure is a character.

Bryan smiles, but otherwise doesn't react. Yup. Male version of Effy. They should never ever meet. Ever.

Emily leans forward, suddenly excited. "Is that the stuff from behind the church?" she asked, eyes wide.

Bryan looks up and nods vigorously, his smile growing. He lifts up an untouched bud and hands it to her, setting it gently in her hand. She examines it closely, oohing and aahing over it. She hands it back to him, and he hands it to me. I have to admit, it's great looking weed, all spongy and red with hair. I bet if I shifting my fingers just slightly, it would start to crumble beautifully.

"Wow," I say, handing it back to him.

"Man, if we had just waited a week," Emily exclaims, looking skywards and shaking her fists.

"Yeah, that party would have been ten times better," AJ says, watching Bryan as he rolls a blunt.

"I told you it was almost done curing," Bryan says, looking at Emily. "You're the one that insisted we move the party up."

She glances quickly at me, but won't maintain eye contact. "Yeah, well," she says, looking down. I don't think she's thought too far beyond that, and doesn't continue.

Bryan finishes rolling the blunt and lights it, hitting it a few times before passing it on to AJ. He immediately starts to roll another one.

"So, you're also an artist?" I ask Shane, remembering the story about how he met Emily.

"Yeah, I try to be," he says, taking the blunt from AJ and bringing it to his lips. "When I can," he says tightly, holding his air in, leaning forward and handing the blunt to Emily.

"You know, Naomi's an artist," she tells him before hitting the blunt herself.

"Really?" he asks me, genuinely interested.

By the time Emily hands me the blunt, Bryan's already fired up a second one. Oh, no. "Not really," I say, inhaling the smoke, and passing it to Bryan, who's already passed the new on to AJ. He hits it and starts rolling a third.

"No, no, that thing on the wall in the church," she says, sitting up. "That was really beautiful."

"I had no idea what I was doing," I explain. "I was just fucking around."

"That's all I ever do," Shane says, smoke emitting from his mouth as he speaks. He hands the blunt off to Emily before turning around and taking the second one from AJ, inhaling from it before exhaling from the previous one.

There is not an amateur smoking bone in these people's bodies.

"I'll have to go look at it," he concludes, as Emily hands me the first blunt. Bryan's getting the third lit. "I bet I can bring the artist out in you."

I'm slightly warmed by the idea, and I have no idea why.

We continue smoking, and Bryan continues rolling until we've got five blunts in rotation. One for each of us. Of course, by the time he gets the last one lit, the first one only goes around one more time before it's out. Still, for several minutes, it was a constant pass and toke, and the amount of smoke that filled the van seeped into my pores. Hell, it was so foggy in there that I couldn't even see Emily, and she was sitting across from me.

That's when Shane's music started to make sense. I did agree that they needed a vocalist, though.

I look over at AJ, and he blows a kiss at me, coupled with a nod. I laugh in his general direction. "What are you, twelve?" I ask.

"Hey, I'm seventeen," he defends, and I think I really might have offended him. Maybe he's got a complex about his size.

Emily sighs, and puts the final blunt out in the ashtray next to her seat. "I think I'm gonna call it a night guys," she says softly, obviously stoned. We all hear her, anyway, gifted with magical pot ears that can pick up the mumbled words spoken by any stoner.

"You want me to drop you guys off?" Shane asks. "You'll have to give us a minute to load up the van, and it might be a little packed, but it's no trouble," he explains.

"No, thank you," she says, standing up and stooping to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling. "We'll walk," she says, and gestures for me to open the door.

I do and we climb out of the van, followed by the guys. "Whoa," I hear off to the side, and look over to see one of the staff taking out the trash. "That looked like something out of a Snoop Dogg video," he says, awed.

I look up to see the smoke cloud above the van, and notice that there's still more coming out. AJ jumps and high fives Shane in excitement. "Yes!"

The more time I spent around him, the easier it was to laugh at his antics.

"You sure you guys don't need any help?" Emily asks them as they start loading up the van with their equipment.

"We're fine," Bryan says, tossing something in the back.

She nods. "Right. Thanks again guys," she says, waving.

"Yeah, be careful," Shane calls to us.

She sighs and we start walking, and things are awkward again. I really wish they weren't.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier," she says finally, looking at the ground. "I didn't mean to be so angry with you. It's just that these guys…" She sighs, and I can tell she's trying to find the words to explain the situation.

"I like them," I say, trying to be helpful. I wasn't lying. They were interesting.

"But they're mine," she says sharply, and I'm taken aback.

"I'm sorry…?" I say, because I have no idea what's going on anymore.

She sighs and I can tell that she's frustrated. "I met them after we graduated. They're not tainted with all of the drama that comes with our circle of so-called friends," she explains. "I don't want to mix the two worlds. Those guys, what we do, they're mine. I don't want to share them."

I understand to a point. I understand that she hates the drama in our group. Hell, we all do, but we still together regardless. I can understand her wanting to have something outside of it, and her own. But as part of her old world, I was slightly offended.

Though, I guess I haven't made it easy for her.

"So then why did you invite us to that party?" I ask. I'm genuinely curious, because the two behaviors don't make any sense.

She sighs again and stuffs her hands in her pockets, and she's moved from frustrated to afraid. I don't know why. I'm not the horrifying monster she seems to sometimes believe I am. "Because I wanted you to see that I wasn't scary," she finally admits.

Wow. Okay. I didn't expect that. "I don't think you're scary," I say, but I'm not sure I believe it.

She scoffs and stops walking. I notice we're not terribly far from my house by this point, but I don't know why I think it's important. "Are you kidding me?" she asks me, obviously angry. "You've been skittish around me since fucking middle school."

Not a subject you want to talk to me about. Seriously. "You're going to try and use that as evidence of my irrational fear of you? Really? Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" My voice is trying to rise, and I have to concentrate to keep it level. "Gee, I wonder why I'm fucking skittish around you." I've apparently turned on my sarcasm button.

"I was fourteen," she says, and I think she would have yelled it if it had been daylight. "I was stupid, and scared, and made a fucking mistake. I'm sorry."

Well, that's a little too late. "You never told the truth, Emily," I say, no longer confrontational. Now, I just want the conversation over with. This wasn't a place in my history I particularly liked visiting. "I took shit from everyone, from Katie, because you never told the truth."

"Neither did you," she points out sheepishly.

"It wasn't my place."

We stand there for a few minutes, looking at everything but each other. "Look," I say, breaking the silence. "I'm sorry I held a grudge for so long." I was sorry. It's just that there had been so much pain, and it was hard to see through it.

"I'm sorry I never stood up for you," she says, her voice soft and full of regret. Great, now I've made her feel bad, and feel guilty because of it, even though I know there's no real reason to.

I start walking towards my house again, and she follows me, and we both pretend that everything is normal, and that we've been friends for years. "So how does Friday sound?" she asks me as we reach the walkway to my front door.

"What do you mean?" I ask, dumbfounded.

"As your some other time," she explains, smiling. The girl sure could bounce back fast.

"Well, I… I mean, that is…" I stumble over my words, because I've been taken off guard, and have no idea what to say. "I mean, I thought tonight…"

Her eyes darken, and she rolls her head, sticking her tongue out to lick her lips, and I know I've just royally pissed her off. "No, Naomi, it doesn't fucking work that way," her voice has risen, and I try to get her to lower it, but she's off and there's no stopping her. "I didn't even know you were going to be there, tonight. That's not fair. Things don't get to happen when you decide. Other people have to be in on it."

I open my mouth, probably to try and talk my way out of it using some lame excuse involving a surprise, but she won't let me get a word in.

"You know what? Fine," she throws her hands up, as if in surrender. "You know I never took you as the homophobic kind, but I guess I'm wrong." She turns swiftly and starts to walk down the street.

It's not that I'm homophobic. It's that I'm Emilyphobic.

But the challenge was right there in her words, and my nature is such that I'm powerless not to rise to it. I'm beginning to think she's figured out that reverse psychology works really well on me.

"Friday sounds great," I call down the street, just loud enough for her to hear me.

She stops and slowly turns around. Her face is hard to read, and I hope it's just because she's so far away. She just seems indifferent, and that seems strange. She flops her arms against her side, as though she's at a loss for words. Or maybe it's just at the futility of the situation we're in. I honestly don't know.

She's silent for what seems like hours, but I know it was only seconds, before she seems to come to some conclusion.

"I'll pick you up at eight."


	9. 8: Crossed Over The Line

**Author's Notes**

_This chapter was the most difficult for me to write, so far. I started this thing about three different times and got several pages into it, only to read over and decide it was all shit. So it took me a while to get into a groove. This chapter's a bit shorter than they have been, but it's still a decent length, and I don't think any of you will be disappointed. Also, to be completely honest, I'm having a blast with Emily's characterization, so I'm glad so many of you enjoy it, because it's damn near my favorite part of this to write._

_Warnings: mopeds, indecisive!Naomi_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 8: Crossed Over the Line**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

"I think I've got a date with Emily tomorrow night," I say dejectedly, flopping down onto a seat next to Effy and Cook.

I had been on my way to the campus book store, needing to pick up a test sheet for a class on Friday, but as I was walking through the student center, I had noticed them on a couch and decided to join them.

Effy just tilts her head, but Cook looks ecstatic. A little too ecstatic, if you ask me. "It's about time," he says, smiling.

I turn my head to glare at him. "She tricked me," I explain, almost growling.

Effy smiles and stifles a laugh, but otherwise doesn't react. "What do you mean she tricked you?" Cook asks, looking genuinely confused.

"She made it to where I couldn't say no," I elaborate. "Look, do we have to talk about it?" I groan, finding a throw pillow and pulling it over my head.

"You're the one that brought it up," Effy points out, and I hit her with my pillow, which she promptly takes away.

"It's just that I don't know what it means. I don't know what to expect," I explain, thrusting my hands out, palms up. "What does she do?"

Cook laughs and claps once or twice. "What do any of us do?" he asks me, and I suppose he's got a point. "Just, uh, be yourself, yeah?" he advises. "And make sure to kiss her good night."

I flip him off, for the simple fact that I have no earthly idea how else to respond to that.

"Yeah, girls hate it when you don't kiss them good night," Effy agrees. Like she has any experience. Wait a minute…

What the fuck, why am I getting dating tips? This is beyond fucked.

I get up and storm out of the student center, imagining their smug little faces looking after me. Shit. I forgot to get that exam form. I guess I'll have to do that tomorrow before class, just another thing I've got to worry about.

*****

Emily shows up right on time, and I'm not surprised.

"You look nice, dear," my mother tells me as I come down the stairs. "Do you have a date?"

Now, there's an interesting question. To be honest, I've asked myself this same question a countless number of times since its conception, and I still haven't come up with a definitive answer. I mean, it's on date night, but the word "date" was never actually used. Then again, I'm getting picked up, rather than meeting her somewhere, and that's slightly more than friendly if you ask me.

"No, Mum," I say, making my way over to the door. "Just going out with Emily."

"Oh, okay," she says. "You girls have fun." Right. Like she even knows who Emily is. Not that it's her fault, really. I've taken special care to make sure my mother meets none of my friends. She's far too bat shit, wonderful as she is.

"Alright," I say and open the door. Emily looks stunning, not that that's shocking, or anything. She's wearing a boy's novelty t-shirt, with a strange tribal pattern spreading across the left shoulder and down the side, and it hangs off of her in all the right places. Her jeans are black, and surprisingly feminine, and I feel somewhat underdressed compared to her.

Which is silly, really, because we're both in jeans, she just makes it look so damn good.

Shut up, brain.

"Good evening," she says, smiling, and I find her good mood catching.

"Good evening," I respond, playing along.

"Ready to go?" she asks, shuffling her feet. It didn't take her long to become embarrassed.

I always found her mood shifts strange. She could be hurt one minute, and smiling the next. She could be playful, and turn around and become bashful. It's like the girl felt everything all at once, and couldn't pick one to keep for any length of time.

"Yeah," I say, and step out of my house, closing the door behind me. I look past Emily and realize she's shown up on a moped. I stop halfway down the walkway and arch an eyebrow at her, pointing to the motorbike.

"What?" she says, pretending to be offended. "I find them terribly romantic," she tells me, skipping towards it.

"Of course you do," I say, trailing behind, keeping a safe distance away from the vehicle.

She gets on, and motions for me to do the same.

"Oh, no," I say, putting my hands up. I'm not getting on that death trap.

"Oh, come on, don't be such a pussy," she taunts, and that's the end of that argument. I really do need to think about this defiant thing I have. It's probably going to be the death of me.

I climb on behind her and place my hands on her hips and try not to think about the way they feel against my palms. She turns around, smirking. "You're going to need to hold on tighter than that," she says, laughing.

I roll my eyes and slide my hand around her waist, clasping them in front of her abdomen. I can feel her chuckle, but she doesn't say anything as we drive away. I try to keep my hold on her loose, but the faster we go, the tighter I have to hold on, until I'm pressed flatly against her.

Her hair is whipping about my face, and getting into my eyes, and all I can see is this brilliant shade of red. I bury my face in her shoulder to protect my face, and I can feel her tense, before quickly relaxing.

She takes me to a tiny hole in the wall restaurant, where you have to walk down stairs into the sidewalk to even get to the door, which often opens into a smaller set of stairs in the actual establishment. The place is dimly lit and there are only a handful of tables, all lined against the walls, with partitions built around them. It was an informal kind of place, and she led me to the farthest booth, sitting us herself. I think she would have pulled a chair out for me if there had been one.

"What is this place?" I ask, leaning forward, watching as a young waiter makes his way over to us.

"Can I start you off with some drinks?" he asks us politely, looking back and forth between the two of us.

Emily orders a bottle of wine, and I'm surprised they have that available here. It seemed more like the beer and mixed drinks kind of place.

"Just a little place with delicious food that serves just about everything," she says, shrugging a shoulder. "But that's not why I like it."

Okay, I'll bite. "Why do you like it?"

She turns silent and gestures to our surroundings. I listen for a moment, but can't figure out what she's talking, or rather not talking about. "I can't hear anything," I whisper, afraid of disturbing the still.

"Exactly," she says, satisfied grin pulling at her lips. "It's like we're in our own little world," she continues, looking around at the booth. "And no one else can come in," she finishes, finally letting her eyes rest on me.

Where did that sudden hot flash come from?

This is ridiculous. How did I end up here? If someone had told me a week ago, that I'd be on a date with Emily Fitch, I would have laughed in their faces. Now, here I am, and I even seem to be enjoying myself.

No. This is not a real date. This is a one time thing that I need to do to clear my conscience, and then I don't have to deal with it any more. I like the sound of that much better.

I just need to focus. I need to be on the top of my game tonight. Failure is not an option. I need to pick a goal and focus on it. I'll give her tonight, but then I'm going to tell her that I'm straight, and all of this really is pointless, and we can finally end whatever this thing is that we're doing.

What exactly are we doing?

Focus!

The waiter comes back with our wine quickly and takes our meal orders, then politely excuses himself from our tiny world.

"So what's the deal with AJ?" I ask once he's gone, not knowing what's safe and what's not. "He's kind of…" I make a circular motion with my hand, indicating that I'm searching for a word.

"Vulgar?" she offers, and I couldn't have picked a better one myself.

"Yeah, exactly."

She smiles and shrugs nonchalantly. "AJ's AJ," she says, but that doesn't really explain anything. "He's a Sunshine Kid."

I feel one of my eyebrows trying to make its way into my hairline, and I rein it in. She sees it anyway. "His term," she continues, throwing her hands up. "Supposedly, like fifty years ago the US government did experiments on children with LSD. Like, they gave them a fuckton. And they grew up to be kind of crazy, and out there."

Now, I'm confused. "But that was fifty years ago," I say. "Surely AJ wasn't experimented on."

"Oh, no, of course not," she says, backtracking. "It's just that he started dosing before he really had the mental capacity for it, and he did it quite often."

"So he's what, special?" I ask, because I don't know how else to word it. I really am just trying to understand. I mean, that kid was seriously off.

She shakes her head emphatically. "Not in the least," she says. "He just thinks a little bit differently, and everything that crosses his mind comes out of his mouth."

I nod because I guess that makes sense, and the waiter comes back with out food. I had forgotten we were even in a restaurant. I understand what Emily meant now, about loving the place for the atmosphere.

We eat mostly in silence, speaking only to exclaim how delicious the food is. Emily seemed to know about all of these tiny little worlds that the rest of us never noticed, and I wonder how she's done it.

We split the bill, which relaxes my nerves a bit. Well, that and the wine. But because neither one of us paid for the other, it feels more like two friends spending time together, rather than some imposed date. Maybe that's all this is. Maybe I won't have to have that dreadful conversation at the end of the night, where I effectively cut her out of my life forever.

Not because I'd want to, but because I'd have to.

It doesn't take nearly the amount of coercing to get me back on the moped as it did the first time around, mostly because once you've been on it once, it seems a bit silly to make a fuss over it again. We take off, and soon I start to think we're heading back to Emily's place. I can feel a panic attack coming on, and I tighten my hold on her. We can't do this. Don't take me there, Emily, no good can come of it.

But she doesn't get that far before she parks, and I try not to heave a sigh of relief. She leads me down several streets, and into a random club, and I realize I've been here before. I was here exactly a week ago, actually.

Wow. It's only been a week?

"I really liked this place," she says, leaning towards me so that I can hear her over the music. She leads me into the bar area, where it's quieter. "I wanted to get to know it. Hope you don't mind."

I shake my head. "Not at all, I liked it, too," I reply.

There's a slight moment of awkward where we're just looking at each other stupidly before she finally breaks it. "Right. So go grab a table, and I'll get us some drinks," she's shoved her hands into her pockets again. We all know what that means. She's off before I have a chance to respond.

"Okay," I say to no one, and turn in the direction of the tables. I pick one in a corner out of habit.

It's still early, and the place hasn't quite hit its swing, yet, so Emily's not gone for long, and finds me quickly. She seems to have taken the time to work her confidence back up.

Alright, what have we got here? Shots of rum. That's interesting.

"So tell me something interesting," she demands, sitting down across from me.

I laugh, because it's such a strange request. "Like what?" I ask, downing my first shot. It burns wonderfully down into my stomach.

She shrugs her shoulders and knocks back her own shot. "Anything," she says, smiling.

Thanks for the clarification.

I think for a moment, searching my brain for something worthwhile. I'd hate to disappoint her, after all. I knock back a second shot to try and buy myself some more time. Still, all I can come up with in the time is "I told Effy and Cook we had a date." I want to take it back as soon as it's out.

I can see her work to keep her face neutral, and when she arches an eyebrow at me, the timing is completely off. "Oh, really?" she asks, taking her second shot.

"Well, I didn't know," I say, waving my arm like an imbecile. "It was never discussed. I mean… is it?" God, could I sound like any more of a freak?

"Do you want it to be?" She looks up at me from the table slowly, and her look is intense. I start to feel as though I'm having my own private summer.

"No." Maybe. I don't know. Down another shot.

"Then it's not a date," she says, leaning back, and taking another shot. I've noticed that she hasn't started any round, and is just keeping up with me.

I can hear the song change on the dance floor and Emily moans in pleasure. Wow, that was an interesting sound. "I love this song," she groans, and stands up. She grabs my arm and tries to pull me towards the dance floor, but I won't let her. "Oh, there are those walls again," she says, dropping my arm and sounding disappointed. My brow furrows at her words. "You know I can see them, don't you?" she asks me, arching an eyebrow.

She sighs through her nose and tilts her head, scrutinizing me. I don't like the way it feels, like there's something just beneath the surface of my skin that may come jumping out at any moment. "You analyze everything to death, don't you? Until there's nothing left of it. Don't you ever just let yourself feel? Don't you ever want to just let yourself go?"

"I'm not sure I know how," I mumble, taking my fourth shot.

Emily leans forward and grabs a glass from the table, shooting it quickly. "Let me show you," she says, extending her hand to me.

I take her hand, and the only thing I know is that I'll never know why.

She leads me out of the bar area and onto the dance floor. I can feel the bass in the floor beneath my face, erratic and slow. The music is slow, but driving, and a woman is crooning along with it. Emily drags me all the way out into the middle of the floor, which has slowly been filling with people, and starts to sway.

She dances by herself first, outlining her body with her hand, turning her cheek towards her shoulder. Her eyes are closed, and she's biting her lip, and her hips are rolling in torturous slow time with the music.

She opens her eyes, and they look darker than I've ever seen them before, though I don't know if it's the alcohol or the music or both. She moves closer to me and slides the pads of her fingers down my neck. I still haven't begun to move. I'm too caught up in watching the way she moves her own body, and I'm hit with the realization that this is the same thing that happened the last time I was here.

The alcohol, and the music, and the atmosphere, and Emily combine to create this alternate reality where I want things I couldn't possibly, and my head is starting to feel fuzzy.

There was something I was supposed to be focusing on. There was a point to all this, somewhere back down the road, but I honestly don't remember what it is, and as Emily slides her hands to my hips I can honestly say I don't give a shit.

She moves me in time with her, and I know I'm not going to be able to get away with standing here like an idiot, so I give in and start to dance with her.

Her body never stops moving as she slides on hand down my arm. She closes her fingers around my hand and guides my hand up around her neck, and she snakes her other arm around the small of my back, pulling us closer together.

It's too much. It's all too much, and I can't stand it anymore. Her eyes are burning into mine, and I think if I don't get away I'll never breathe again. I start to laugh, because this situation is ridiculously absurd, and pull away.

She grabs my wrist just before I push through enough people to separate us and pulls me back to her. I'm impressed by her upper body strength. I never would have thought someone so small could be that strong. She wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me so close that our bodies are pressed against each other. "Just let go, Naomi," I feel rather than hear her say into my ear, and her breath is hot and tickles.

She turns her back to me and wraps my arms around her waist. She reaches an arm up and runs her fingers through my hair, clenching them into a fist at the nape of my neck, and the sensation is indescribable. She drags her nails along the skin on the back of my neck, I find myself sliding my own hands down her abdomen to her hips.

I don't know if it was the rum, or Emily, or if I had just finally gone completely insane. There is absolutely no explanation for what happens next, and I'm really not proud of my actions.

But when she turns her face towards mine, and I see her mouth in profile, see the way her bottom lip sticks out ever so slightly as she releases it from between her teeth, and the way her eyes are shut in concentration, it feels as though my body is no longer my own, and whatever is going to happen is going to happen, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it, no matter how hard my brain screams in rebellion.

I do the only thing I think I'm physically capable of.

I kiss her.


	10. 9: Let's See In Cold Daylight

**Author's Notes**

_Ladies, and gentlemen, boys and girls, I'd like you all to gather round. In honor of this chapter, and hitting over fifty reviews, and getting over 1,000 hits on this story in a single twenty-four hour period, I present to you… a shameless self-plug. Yes, that's right. I'd like to appeal to your humanitarian side, and direct you kindly to my profile, where you will find a homepage link that will direct you to a book. Not just any book. What's so special about this book, you ask? Well, I wrote it. It's called Here, in my Head, and while it doesn't contain Naomi and Emily, it's still a pretty decent read that you might consider checking out._

_Come on. Help a starving author out. You know you want to._

_Warnings: metaphorical ice bucket, convenient store violence_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 9: Let's See In Cold Daylight**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

She stiffens, completely stops moving, and I start to wonder if I've crossed some kind of line, but then her grip on the back of my neck tightens, and she opens her mouth, and her breath is hot, and bitter, and comes in heavy pants. I can't help but tighten my hold on her hips, and pull her impossibly closer to me.

She breaks her lips away from mine and leans her head back against my shoulder, her eyes still closed, as though she's afraid this won't be real when she opens them. I can't believe it's real anyway. Her neck is elongated and exposed, and I can see the pulse just beneath her skin, and I don't think about it as I lower my head and press my lips against it. I can feel the vibrations of her groan against my mouth, but otherwise wouldn't have known it happened. It causes me to snake my tongue out and taste the flesh of her neck, the pure taste of sweat and skin exciting me somehow, and I move my hands back to her waist, wrapping my arms around her.

She pulls away from me, and I find myself growling in frustration. That was unexpected. I don't have time to vocalize my discomfort, though, because she turns around to face me and covers my mouth with her own, forcing my lips open with her tongue. Oh, my God, she tastes like alcohol and I think I'm becoming drunker by the second. Her hands are raking back across my scalp, and tugging gently at the roots of my hair, and I find myself biting down on her bottom lip in retaliation.

She rips our lips apart by pulling back at my hair, forcing my head back and reattaching her lips to the side of my neck. I groan as she starts to suck, and I start to feel something growing in the pit of my stomach. She moves upwards from my neck to my ear, taking the lobe between her teeth and nibbling ever so gently. "Let's get out of here," she says, and I'm nodding dumbly, because higher brain functions no longer work.

My world is spinning, and my head is swimming, and I know I'm being dragged somewhere by my wrist, but I can't concentrate on where I'm going, or who I'm with, or where I am, or even who I am. All I know is that there's this deliciously warm body out in front of me, and I'll die if I don't grab hold of it and hold on forever.

The need is so intense that I somehow have her up against the wall outside of the club, my hands wrapped loosely around her neck, tilting her head towards mine, and drinking her in. I can feel the chill of the night air against my body, so I press myself even closer to her. Her hand moves to my collarbone and grabs a fistful of my shirt, twisting, as her tongue slides against my teeth, and I can feel the wanting radiating off of her.

Move, feet, move! I'm being dragged again, away from the club, down the street, and I have to stop several times for a kiss, or a touch, because I'm going to explode if I don't touch her, right now, and we really can't find somewhere fast enough.

She throws me against the wall halfway up the stairs to her apartment and kisses me. Hard. I can feel her teeth against my lips, and I wonder for a second if she's not trying to completely devour me. I have to tilt my head upwards to meet her, and I'm suddenly very thankful for stairs. I gasp as she hooks her index finger in the hem of my pants before she proceeds to drag me up the rest of the stairs.

She fumbles with her keys at the door, and whatever was building in the pit of my stomach earlier has turned into a tugging at my insides, and I lean against her, bracing myself with my arm against the door, trapping her between me and the closed door. I can hear her sigh, and she leans her forehead against the wood as I slide my hands down her back and around her hips to her thighs and back up to her shoulders.

She finally gets her door unlocked and we stumble through the threshold, almost falling over on ourselves. Somehow, we manage to stay upright, and the next thing I know, I'm pinned against the newly closed door, doorknob digging wonderfully into my back, and Emily's got my wrists pinned against the door.

Emily…

I flash of doubt goes through me as she trails her tongue slowly up from the base of my neck to my jaw line, but I push it aside. She trails her fingers down the other side of my jaw line and guides out mouths together, even and slow, and the sudden change disturbs me. She slides her tongue between my lips and kisses me deeply, lazily, exploring my mouth until I can't breathe anymore.

What happened? Why the change?

She breaks the kiss and finally looks at me, and that's when I understand. I can't maintain eye contact with her for too long, because I'm afraid I'll drown in the emotional depths I see in them.

God, I'm a prick.

There's a flash of confusion across her face, and then she's trailing kisses down my neck again, trying to reignite whatever it was that just went out. It's no use, though. Everything's come flooding back to me, and now everything's worse than ever, and it's all because I finally let myself go.

Well, I shall be sure to keep myself one hundred percent contained from now on, won't I?

I bring my hands up to her shoulders and push her away from me. I don't even know what her reaction is because I can't bring myself to look anywhere other than the floor. I swallow hard against the lump that's gotten caught in my throat. "I can't," I force out, and the words are hoarse. I clear my throat. "I'm sorry."

I feel her take a few steps away from me before she sighs. "Of course."

I feel the need to explain, even though I know I don't know how. "It's just…" my hands move in front of my body, searching for something to say that can make this better. "Why does everything have to mean something?"

I finally look up to see her leaning against the metal pillar in her living room, arms folded across her chest, and her eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. Possibly the same one I was fascinated with moments ago. She looks more exhausted than I've ever seen her. "Have you considered the alternative?" she asks, and her voice sounds very far away.

It isn't much of an answer. I don't even know what it means.

She takes a few steps towards me, and I get the feeling she's barely holding herself together. "Good night, Naomi," she says, in that tired voice of hers. She moves past me and into her bedroom, closing it tightly behind her.

I hang my head, and show myself out of her place.

I don't go home. I don't go anywhere. I walk aimlessly and mindlessly, smoking cigarette after cigarette, and try to make sense out of this night.

In the cold light of morning, it still looks the same.

*****

A little bell chimes as I push open the door to a convenience store, and I grit my teeth. I'm so tired, and wired, and essentially tweaked out (which is ridiculous, because I don't touch uppers), that even that little piece of sunshine is enough to rub me the wrong way.

"How may I help you?" the woman behind the register asks monotonously, yawning. It's good to see someone else shares my distaste for all things nice and happy.

I ask for a pack of cigarettes and she rings them up for me. I pay her, and we don't bother exchanging thank yous or come agains, and I'm extremely thankful for it.

A sharp pain shoots through my jaw, and suddenly I'm on the floor.

"What the fuck?" I exclaim, bringing a hand up to the back of my head. I hit it on the counter on the way down, and there's already a large bump on my head. I look up to find Katie towering over me, and I think I can actually see the smoke coming out of her nostrils.

"Now, I don't know what you did," she says, her voice low, pointing an angry finger at me. "But I was on the phone with Emily all night, and I was left with the very strong urge to hit you." She shakes her hand and examines, and I think she's hurt herself a bit.

Well, good.

"Mission fucking accomplished," I grumble standing up. I'm still holding my head, and I hope she'll take it as a white flag and back off. I don't have the energy to fight with her right now. I work my jaw once or twice for emphasis. It was already stiff, and I was slightly worried about my speaking abilities in several hours.

Damn, girl could throw a punch.

"I would ask you what the fuck you did, but you wouldn't tell me, anyway," she says, and I think if she'd been tall enough to look down her nose at me, she would have done it.

"I didn't do anything," which technically isn't a lie, but rather the problem itself.

She nods, disbelieving. "Right. Exactly. I don't have time for this." She turns on her heels and heads towards the drinks in the back, opening the door and grabbing a container of chocolate milk. On her way back to the register, she grabs a package or two of cinnamon rolls.

I glance at the cashier and Katie and back, and I'm filled with disappointment. I had liked that woman, but she hasn't reacted to the scene that just happened a foot away from her.

Funny. That's exactly what I liked about her before.

I push open the front door and cringe at the fucking bell again as I walk through it. I stop on the sidewalk to pack my cigarettes and light one. It didn't take long for my habit to come back in the least, and I'm fairly uncomfortable with that idea.

"Stuck around for round two, did you?" Katie asks me, coming out of the store, her items in a bag.

I don't rise to the bait, instead gesturing towards her purchases. "Give up on your girlish figure, then?"

She rolls her eyes and looks off towards the road. "They're for Emily, not that it's any of your business," she explains. She turns her face back to me, and its lost a lot of it's nastiness, though not all. "Comfort food. Ever since we were kids."

Well, I don't know what to say to that. I don't know what to say at all. I don't even know why I'm still here. I want nothing more than to get out of this situation. "Right."

She scoffs at me and stomps off to her car, and I inhale deeply on my cigarette. I wince as my jaw flares up with pain at the motion and realize this is going to be a long day.

*****

I wince as I hold an ice pack against my cheek. I had purposefully avoided any reflective surfaces on my way home, and waited until I was in the privacy of my own bathroom to survey the damage.

It's definitely swollen, but not as badly as I thought it would be, and a purple bruise, that gets deeper where her knuckles hit. I can still open my jaw as widely as I ever could, and the soreness is bearable, so I think I'll be alright as long as I can keep the swelling down.

Still, I have every intention of living like the Phantom of the fucking opera for a few days.

The bump on my head isn't nearly as much of an issue, and after a few aspirin that headache goes away.

I've got the curtains closed, and the lights off at eight o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, trying desperately to fall asleep, because I haven't gotten any sleep since Thursday night, but the damn ice pack is cold, and making it impossible for me to get comfortable.

Well, that's the excuse I'm going with, anyway.

I'm trying not to recognize the fact that my brain is still reeling with flashes of Emily. I'm not revisiting the places we could have gone if she hadn't broken the mood with her damn feelings. I'm not remembering the way my hands felt as they moved across her body.

I'm just not.

I don't know at what point I fell asleep. I don't even remember falling asleep. I figure my body must have finally just turned itself off, like a toy whose batteries had run dry. But the next thing I'm conscious of is my phone ringing. I grope for it a few times before finding it and discovering that Effy's calling me… and has apparently been trying to call me for the last two hours.

I groan into the phone, not even bothering with an actual greeting.

"I need you to clear something up for me," she dives right in. "I heard from Cook, who heard from JJ, who said that Freddie said Katie punched you out. What the fuck?"

There are way too many people involved in that sentence for it to make even a tiny bit of sense. "Okay, first of all… what?" I ask, still not completely coherent. It kind of feels like I'm waking up from a coma, or at least what I think waking up from a coma might feel like, since I've never actually done it.

"Did Katie punch you out?" she simplifies.

"Only technically. Depends on your definition."

"Word has it; you went down in one hit."

"Well, to be fair, she did sneak attack me, and I was exhausted at the time," I try and reason. I still am exhausted, actually, and would love nothing more than to go back to bed. What time is it, anyway?

Oh, good lord, it's three in the afternoon.

I'm suddenly amazed at my ability to function during daylight hours during the week if I get my days and nights so fucked up during the weekend. Perhaps I underestimate myself.

"Oh, my god," she says, though of course it doesn't sound like shock at all. Effy's voice is never anything but even and controlled. "I'm coming round."

"No, Effy, don't," I start, but she's already hung up on me. I think about trying to call her back and talking her out of it, but I really don't have the energy to try and fight her over the phone. Though, really, I don't have the energy to have a conversation of any sort with her in person, because then I'll have to be on the top of my game.

Effy's observational skills and intellect are really fun when you're feeling okay, or when they're directed at other people, and that's about it.

Well, I've got no choice. I can come out of hibernation early, and meet her downstairs, and have a chat on the porch, or go for a walk. Or, I can continue to live like a hermit, and risk my mother showing her inside, which would no doubt lead to many embarrassing tales of her yesteryears, and offering Effy all the hard liquor.

Ugh. Mum still hasn't even seen me, yet.

I make my way quietly down the stairs and out the front door, deciding that waiting on the porch for Effy might be in my best interest. The sun's way too bright for its own good, though, and I have to squint in its light.

Effy doesn't take long showing up, and the first thing she does is examine my face. "What'd you do, then?" she asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Why do you automatically assume I did something?" I ask, arching an offended eyebrow in her direction as she sits down next to me.

"Well, Katie may be a bitch," she says, lighting a cigarette. "But I've never known her to be prone to random acts of violence."

I sigh and look out towards the road, refusing to answer her question. It would just open up a big can of worms that I don't want to open up. Can't I just get some sleep? Can't I rest before I'm forced to go back and investigate all of this?

She changes tactic. "Date with Emily didn't go so well, I take it."

"No, it went fine," I say, shaking my head. "It went really well, actually." I can see her draw back slightly, and I know I've finally shocked her. Score one for me. Too bad I'm in no mood to savor the moment. "But it wasn't a date."

"No?" She's wearing her skeptical look. Jesus Christ, fuck off and go analyze yourself.

I'm sorry. I love Effy. Really, I do. Just not when she's focused on me. "No," I respond evenly.

"What am I missing here?" she asks, shaking her head. "Great night last night, bruised face this morning. Where are the missing hours?"

I rub my face in my hands and sigh because I really don't want to be doing this right now. "Please, Effy," I say, and I hope I don't have to say any more. I hope I don't have to plead with her to just let this drop for now. I know there will be questions that I have to answer eventually, but I need to figure out who's worth answering to and who's not, and damnit, right now I could just use a friend.

Thankfully, I don't have to explain all these things, because Effy just leans back in her seat and takes hold of my hand. She continues smoking, and starts to entertain herself by blowing smoke rings, and performing other various smoke-related experiments.

She doesn't say a word, but I know she's there, and it's exactly what I need.


	11. 10: Put Out The Call But Not To Be Saved

**Author's Notes**

_Sorry for the seemingly filler chapter. There are a few important things discussed, and some characterization that you may or may not catch, depending on how in depth you analyze the content. Shorter chapter, yet again. I've gotten to the point in writing this where the excitement of creation has worn off, and all that drives you is the idea of an eventual shape. So bear with me._

_I've gotten a few questions about the book I mentioned last chapter, so let me clear that up real quick. No, I did not co-write it. I wrote the whole thing. The website credits two people, but Victoria was my editor. So, there. Also, yes, it is angsty gay chick lit, because that's just how I roll._

_Going out of town tomorrow. Don't expect an update for several days._

_Warnings: minor character relationship growth, use of the word "oozing," Cook growth_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 10: Put Out the Call, But not to be Saved**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

"Oh, what happened to you?" my mother exclaims worriedly, rushing over to me and taking my face in her hands as soon as Effy and I step into the house. I tried to get her to leave, but she refused, so I guess I can't avoid letting my mum meet my friends any more.

I really wish everyone would stop fussing, it's not that bad.

"Mosh pit," Effy says with a tilt of her head. What the fuck, did she have that planned? How does she come up with this shit?

"Are you Emily?" my mother asks her, hands clasped together.

"No, Mum, this is Effy," I say, dropping my head. Why can't people just stop asking questions?

Her head snaps up to me, and the confusion is evident on her face. "I thought you said you were going out with Emily?"

"Yeah, well," I start, but Effy cuts me off. Thank god, because I don't know what might have come out of my mouth if I had been left to my own devices.

"We all met up," she explains, and Mum seems to accept it. She's not all that suspicious, though, so I'm not sure it's quite the testament to Effy's lying capabilities. Though, I'm sure they're formidable, considering she's so stoic all the fucking time. A blank stare would be considered completely natural for her.

"Right. Come on, Effy," I say, motioning for her to follow me with a wave of my hand. I figure it's safer to take the lull in conversation as an escape, and go ahead and get out of here before I get all tangled up in Effy's lies.

I collapse onto my bed as soon as we're in my room and Effy shuts the door behind us before sitting in the chair at my desk. "You don't have to stay," I tell her for the umpteenth time. "I really am just going to sleep."

"I know," she says, crossing her arms across her chest. "I just don't want to leave you, okay?"

It seems like strange behavior, but I'm not really the best judge these days. "Suit yourself, then," I grumble, and dive into a sea of pillows and blankets. It doesn't take long at all for me to fall asleep, and I actually sleep through the night.

*****

Hands.

That's the only thing I'm conscious of. Hands. There are two of them. At least, I hope there are two of them. I can't really be sure, though, because they're all over me.

They're sliding, and stroking, and grasping at me, and I can't breathe. I can feel the reasons behind them, how much they want to touch me, and handle me, and make me believe I'm something I'm not. They want to gather me up, and put me in a box, and oh, fuck; now there are lips.

The hands have grabbed at me too hard, and now I'm oozing. They have tightened their hold on me so hard, that I feel my insides being squeezed out of me, and there are lips, catching my liquid self as I drip away, and I'm torn apart faster the more I try to escape.

There's a flash of red, and I wake with a start. What the fuck kind of dream was that?

"Morning," Effy says, and I remember I'm not alone. She's leaning against my dresser, arms crossed in front of her, and I'm suddenly very weary about the fact that she stayed in my room unattended all night. I can just imagine the conclusions she's reached about my person based on my Gaiman collection.

What? I think he's a cool guy. Neverwhere was the shit, and I'll never look at Snow White the same way ever again thanks to "Snow, Glass, Apples."

"Bad dream?" she asks, eyebrow already raised. She should just leave it there permanently, I'm sure it would save her time and energy.

"Yeah," I say, groggily.

"Feel better?" she asks, coming to sit on the corner of my bed.

"Yeah," I say again, this time with slight wonder. Things really do look better on the other side of sleep, and my face doesn't hurt much anymore. I don't know why anyone would ever become an insomniac, it's terrific medicine for whatever ails you, be it physical or otherwise.

Of course, who needs sleep when you've got hard drugs?

"Good," she says, smiling. "Now you can tell me what exactly happened the other night."

I resist the urge to hide back under my pillow, and settle for sighing up at my ceiling instead. There really is no getting out of this, and I wonder for a moment why Effy's pushing so hard. It seems somewhat out of character. "Fine," I say, one corner of my mouth pulling upwards. "But can we please go get something to eat first? I'm fucking starving."

She smiles and chuckles, and this is one of those rare moments when Effy looks like something other than a vampire. They don't happen often. They're few and far between, but every once in a while, a little hint of life will come out, and it's always wonderful when it does. I'm actually really glad that I've amused her. "Yeah, we can get breakfast," she says, grabbing my hand and helping me out of bed.

*****

We're sitting in a corner booth (yes, I've got a thing for corners, no, I don't care what this means) in some chrome-polished wanky retro diner, but they make really good breakfast food, so I can forgive them for their atmosphere. Effy's sitting across from me, sipping a coffee while I tuck into my breakfast sandwich. I can practically hear my arteries clog, but I'm so far beyond giving a shit that I don't even remember where it's located.

"Alright, you've got your food," she says, setting her mug down. "Out with it."

I force down my current mouthful of food and take a sip of my own coffee. My jaw's a little stiffer today than it was yesterday, but a lot of the pain is gone. "I don't even know where to begin," I explain with a wave of my hand.

"The beginning's usually a good spot."

Oh, well, gee, we could trace that back all the way to middle school. We'll be here all day, thanks, Effy. "What if the beginning's really dull?" I ask.

"So then start at the beginning of the not dull part," she says, with an extra head tilt, and I think Effy's patience might finally be reaching its end. I never thought I'd see that ever.

The interesting part. Right. I take another bite of my sandwich in an effort to buy myself more time, like in those Twix commercials, but apparently my sandwich is not as magical, and I haven't come up with some off the wall one-liner that would completely resolve the situation and create positive outcomes for myself by the time I've finished chewing. "I guess that would be the kissing, then."

I don't think I've ever seen Effy's brow raise quite that high before, and I've seen an awful lot of her variations on the look. She doesn't say anything, though, clearly waiting for me to elaborate all on my own.

Okay, I guess I can do that. There's no point in running from it now, right?

So, I tell her. I tell her about the dance, and I tell her about the kiss. I tell her about the scattered journey to Emily's apartment, and about how I couldn't get there fast enough. I tell her that I put a stop to it almost as soon as we go inside.

"I don't understand," she says, shaking her head, and placing a hand on the table, palm up. "If you were so into it, why did you put a stop to it?"

I'm at a loss, because even though I have a reason, one I happen to think is actually valid, I'm not sure I can explain it unless whoever I'm explaining it to is actually in my head. "It's just… it's Emily," I say, and that's enough of an explanation for me.

"What's wrong with Emily?" she asks. Oh, look, another head tilt. I could see that coming from miles away.

"The fact that she's Emily." I don't understand why people can't seem to grasp this concept. "It's just kind of sordid, okay?" I ask defensively. "Besides, the whole mood changed as soon as we got inside. Everything slowed down, became less random. She looked at me and I could see…" I let myself trail off, because I'm not sure I know what I saw, and I don't really think that part's for Effy, anyway.

"So, for clarification, you wanted to fuck, and she wanted to make love," she says, rolling her eyes at the last part of her sentence.

"Exactly!" I exclaim, gesturing emphatically. "Why does it always have to be messy? Why does it have to be this big deal? Why can't it be two people just having a good time…?"

I can tell she's trying so hard not to giggle, so I go ahead and do it for her. "I know, I know, I sound like you and Cook." I seriously need to rethink this train of thought.

Her face loses all traces of emotion instantly, and I think I might have stumbled on something. There was a reason. There was a reason she was so quick to come over yesterday, and there was a reason why she stayed, and goddamnit, I will find out what it is. "How is Cook, anyway?" I ask coyly. "I haven't heard from him since Thursday. I figured he would have been all over me for details about Friday night."

She takes a sip of her coffee, and I know I've never seen Effy stall before. That's my trick. "I don't know why you haven't heard from him," she says, swallowing. "That surprises me."

I arch an eyebrow, because I know she's not telling me something.

Hey. Effy tricks work on Effy, too. Interesting. "He's lost his fucking mind," she says, collapsing her arms onto the table.

Don't make me arch the eyebrow again. I'll do it, I'm not afraid. "What do you mean?" I ask, obviously annoyed that I have to lead her. Effy should not have to be led.

"He just…" she rolls her eyes, and this is another first. I've never seen her not know how to put something. Sure, she may not talk all the time, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know what to say. "He wants to… date."

I'm glad I had finished my sandwich by this time, because I'm certain I would have choked on it. "Excuse me?" I ask, expecting just about anything but that.

"I don't know," she says, playing with one of her nails. "He got me this bracelet, and mentioned something about wanting to be exclusive."

"You're not now?" I knew they weren't together, but I was fairly certain neither of them were fucking anyone else. The look on Effy's face tells me otherwise, however, so I put my hands up in surrender. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday, right before I called you, and right after he told me about Katie hitting you," she says. "Anyway, I'm not speaking to him until he comes to his senses," she explains, shrugging a shoulder. "But this isn't about me," she says, her voice getting brighter. "Now, how are we going to work out your Emily problem?"

"What Emily problem?" I ask. "Why don't I just refuse to speak to her until she comes to her senses?"

She smiles, and looks me straight in the eyes. "Because let's face it, Naomi, the mindless fuck works for only a certain kind of person. The kind of person that's not you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I think I'm slightly offended at her comment. I'm sexy. There are plenty of guys I could go out and have sex with and never see again. I think I'd like that.

"Name one person you've had random sex with," she says, and I open my mouth to answer. "Cook doesn't count. He'll have sex with anything." Interesting. What does that say about Effy?

Cook and I had shared a drunken hookup in college, once. I had been afraid at the time that it was going to cause tension between Effy and myself, but apparently Cook had done that sort of thing before, and she just found it amusing. It's something Cook and I occasionally have a laugh about.

"Right. You can't come up with anyone, can you?" she asks, looking amused.

"Well, just because I haven't in the past, doesn't mean I can't start now," I reason. It makes perfect sense to me.

She laughs. "Trust me, Naomi. You are not that girl." She's right. I know she's right. That doesn't mean I have to like it, however.

"Come on, I told you to be sure to kiss her goodnight," Cook says, appearing next to the table out of nowhere. Has he been taking ninja classes?

"Where did you come from?" I ask, surprised.

He laughs, and I noticed he hasn't even acknowledged Effy. Then again, she hasn't acknowledged him either. "Saw you in the window," he explains, pointing to said window. "Katie's got a real right hook, then?" he asks, gesturing to the fading bruise on my face.

"I did kiss her good night, thank you very much," I tell him, responding to his first comment, but refusing to answer his last question.

He sits down across from me, pushing Effy towards the wall. Neither of them has even looked at the other, and I'm starting to fear this is going to turn out incredibly awkward. "Why the fuck did she sick Katie on if you kissed her good night?" He looks genuinely confused. Oh, Cook.

"I don't think she sent her after me," I say. "I think I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I think it's because I didn't follow up on the kissing."

He still looks confused, so I tell Cook, too. I figure Emily's already told Katie and JJ. Katie will probably gossip to Freddie about it, because that's what she does, and then everybody will know, so I might as well go ahead and throw my side of the story out there.

"Well, yeah, I'd fucking slap you, too!" he exclaims when I've finished.

"Didn't exactly get slapped," I deadpan.

He looks at me very seriously for a few moments. I've never been under his scrutiny before, and it's slightly more unnerving than I thought it would be. I glance over at Effy and realize she's leaning against the wall, looking miserable.

"What's wrong with you, Naomi?" he asks me after what seems like hours.

"What?" I said, snapping my eyes up to meet his.

He lays his hands down on the table. "You've got this great girl, right? I mean, she's Emily. She's nice and sweet, but hot. She's really actually very cool, and you're just going to toss her off to the side because she cares about you?"

I'm starting to get the feeling that this conversation is no longer about me. A quick glance over at Effy tells me I'm right, seeing as she looks like she might actually kill to get out of here.

So this is why she was so adamant about staying with me last night. She used me as a scapegoat so she wouldn't have to talk to Cook. Way to go, Effy.

"It just seems like a waste," he says sadly. "I thought you were cleverer than that."

What the fuck is he supposed to mean by that? "Has it ever crossed anybody's minds that I'm just not interested?" I ask, my voice rising.

"Well, yeah," he says. "But you just waxed all poetic about how hot getting physical with Emily was until she got serious. Which obviously means you're interested."

He has a point, but that doesn't mean I have to tell him that. He looks between me and Effy, looking at her for the first time since he got here, and shakes his head. "I don't understand you girls. Really, I don't." Effy still refuses to look at him. He stares at her for a minute, probably hoping to catch her eye, but eventually he realizes it's a lost cause, and gets up.

He kneels next to the table on his way out to give me his parting words. "Someone amazing wants you, love," he tells me, moving the cigarette behind his ear to his mouth. "You're stupid to piss on it."

He leaves, and I look at Effy. He clearly was not talking about just me, but she's not speaking. "Well," I say, looking around. "That was awkward."

People don't give Cook enough credit. While he may have been trying to get a message across to Effy in some strange roundabout way, he still dispensed some halfway decent advice.

Now, if only I knew what to do with it.


	12. 11: Smash The Best Possibilities

**Author's Notes**

_Expect updates to be several days apart. I've started writing by longhand again, and while it's a slower process, I think it's kind of an even trade off, because I'm much happier with the quality. I've given this chapter a theme song, because it came on when I was writing it, and it just seemed to fit in every way. It's called "Lover I don't have to Love" by Bright Eyes._

_Warnings: Buffy reference, use of the word "fuckshit," the unfortunate return of AJ, mild heterosexual loving, LSD flashback._

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 11: Smash the Best Possibilities**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

I'm amazed at how calm I am on the walk up the stairs and knock on Emily's door. I shouldn't be here. I know that. I shouldn't just be showing up unannounced like this. Hell, if Friday hadn't happened, I still wouldn't have the kind of comfortable relationship with her required for casual swing bys. It's just that I don't think she'd answer any of my calls.

Besides, this isn't verbal.

She opens the door looking flustered and shirtless, and suddenly all of my thoughts go flying out the window as I take in the sight of her black bra and impossibly low pants. Her hair is wet and tussled, and I think that look should be considered illegal.

Calm down. Gather. This makes my job easier, after all.

Her face is hard to read, something between curiosity, surprise, indignation, and annoyance. She opens her mouth to speak, presumably to attack me in some way or another, but I don't let her g3t that far, muffling whatever words might have flown from her mouth with my own.

I raise my hands to her face, sliding one across her scalp to tangle in her hair, and keep her face to mine. I push her a few steps backwards and cross over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind me, and her hands grab at my sides, bunching my shirt between her fingers. I continue to walk her backwards, never moving my mouth from hers, looking for something to brace us against. Unfortunately, there isn't anything in the vicinity, and after a few more steps we go tumbling to the floor, legs tangled in each other.

Well, this works just as well, anyway.

I can't seem to help myself as I slide my tongue between her lips and rake my fingernails across her sides. She groans into my mouth, and she tastes like fresh toothpaste. I flutter my fingers down from her bellybutton to find the button of her pants, working it open.

She mumbles something against my lips, but I can't quite make it out. I'm dimly aware of her hands on my shoulders, but I don't really register them until she's forcing me up and off of her, finally tearing out mouths apart.

I move closer, trying to bring out lips back together, because let's face it, no one really thinks very clearly in this kind of situation. It's only when she roughly sticks her hand out and my chest collides into it that I understand what she's doing, and my brow furrows.

"What are you doing, Naomi?" she asks, and I think she might actually be worried about me, which I kind of think is a strange reaction to have, if I'm being perfectly honest.

I look at her blankly, because I'm fairly certain her question belongs in the Stupid Questions Hall of Fame. Does she need me to draw a fucking diagram?

She looks expectant for a few seconds before smiling slightly and nodding once. "Okay," she says, placing a hand on my knee and using it as leverage to stand. The contact sends waves of tingles through my body, and I can feel myself shiver. "I'm going to go finish getting dressed, and then we'll talk about this," she explains, holding a hand out as though she's afraid I might attack her. Either that, or run. She goes to her bedroom, buttoning her pants on the way.

I don't bother standing up, but instead position myself so that my back is leaning against the wall, and I pull my knees up to my chest. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to calm myself down.

I should leave. I should leave, now. Fuck, I never should have come here in the first place. I knew no good would come of it, but here I am anyway. And now the talking is going to be even worse. It would be so easy to stand up and walk out right now.

So, then, why don't I?

Emily comes out wearing a black wife beater and all thoughts of leaving run far away as I catch sight of the way it makes her shoulders look. She eyes me wearily, arms crossed tightly around her torso. "So," she says, sitting down cross-legged in front of me. "You mind telling me what that was all about?"

Not particularly. I wrap my arms around my knees, curling myself into an even tinier ball than I already was. I catch a glint behind her eyes, but she doesn't move.

Strange.

"Naomi." Her voice is soft and coaxing and makes me want to run screaming in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, there's a wall behind me.

"I think we should have sex," I mumble, and I think she actually didn't hear me.

"What?"

Oh, please don't make me say it again. I clear my throat and try again. "I want us to sleep together," I say, more clearly.

Her eyes widen, but she's quick to fix them. She nods slowly and presses her lips together, and I can tell she's trying not to react further. "Okay," she says, and her voice is higher than she meant for it to be. She clears her throat before continuing. "Why?"

This is the hard part. It's all very convoluted, and I know I'm not going to be able to explain it right. "It's just that… well, after the other night and all…" I trail off and make upwards gestures at my throat, like I'm trying to herd the words up and out of my mouth. "It woke something," I say at last. "And I think it's going to drive me crazy if I don't explore it."

She nods, and it's obvious by her controlled expression that she's trying to listen to me objectively and understand, and I wonder briefly what would happen if she listened to me otherwise. "Go on," she urges.

"And I think things could go back to normal if I can just…" Again, I find myself searching for words.

"Get it out of your system?" she finishes for me with an arched eyebrow.

"For lack of a better term, yeah," I answer, hating the way it sounds.

She starts to laugh. I mean really laugh. She's doubled over and clutching her sides and her laugh is bordering on a cackle. I'm afraid she's going to have trouble breathing soon if she keeps on this way.

"What's so funny?" I ask, masking my defensiveness with slight deadpan annoyance.

She puts her hand out, palm facing me, and tries to calm herself down. "You do know that line of reasoning is straight out of Buffy, don't you?"

No, I can honestly say that I was unaware of that face. I shake my head, looking lost.

"Yeah, those characters wound up getting engaged," she explains, still chuckling. "That line of reasoning is ridiculously flawed."

But it made so much sense when Effy explained it. Then again, everything makes sense when Effy explains it. Girl's got a gift for words and manipulation.

Wait just one goddamn minute…

Fuckshit!

Emily's looking at me now, and she's lost all traces of her previous amusement, and I get the sinking suspicion that something really bad is about to happen. "You know you're a raving bitch, right?" she asks me, completely serious.

"Well, yeah," I say, looking down. The thought had crossed my mind once or twice.

"No, I mean," she sighs and stands up and now it's her turn to struggle for words. She starts to pace and I start to get the feeling that I may have really fucked up. I reposition myself so that I'm mirroring her earlier position, and fold my hands in my lap, head bent and waiting for the oncoming destruction. "Did you ever stop to think about me?" she asks, and my head snaps up to find that she's stopped pacing, and she's now looking at me expectantly.

Of course I thought about her. This whole thing is about her. "Well, yeah," I repeat, gesturing towards her. I open my mouth to elaborate, but she stops me.

"Obviously you haven't," she says, and she starts pacing again. It has a strange effect on me, and I find my gaze lowering again to my hands in my lap. "Because if you had, you would have thought about what your 'theory' would mean for me, and then you wouldn't have bothered coming at all." Her voice is low, and it's evident that she's trying to keep herself in check.

I knew it. I knew I shouldn't have come here. I always knew it in the back of my mind, but here I am anyway, and the worst part is that I only have myself to blame. I could have stopped myself from even knocking on the door. I could have left when she went to go get dressed. But I didn't, and now I'm facing the consequences; consequences that I knew stand almost no chance of being positive. "I should go," I say quietly, standing up. I absolutely refuse to argue. There's no point. This conversation is already past the point of no return, and continuing would just make things worse.

"You know, for some one with so many self-esteem issues, you sure are self-centered," she says as I make my way to her door. Her voice sounds tired again, and I really don't like it.

I pause in her doorway and turn around, somewhat taken aback, and I'm not sure if it's because she just took a stab at my so-called self-esteem issues, or because she called me self-centered.

"Oh, come on," she says, and I guess I must look confused. "Everybody knows you fucking hate yourself except for you."

I sigh and turn to leave. I am not going to stay only to be attacked, and I sure as hell am not going to try and argue about who I am with someone who couldn't possibly have any idea, and besides, what is there to say to that?

I close her door gently and sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. I jump when a loud thud comes from behind the door, and I know she's just thrown something at it.

I steel myself for the trip down the stairs, because my legs feel weak, and they might collapse out from under me at any point. But I can't stay here. I can't stay in the radius of her rage, because I can feel it coming down upon me, like a booby-trapped ceiling in a spy movie, and if I don't get out now, I'll die.

I don't notice it when I pas someone on the stairs, since the only thing I'm thinking about is putting one foot in front of the other and not falling down, but I'm jerked out of my trance when I hear a somewhat familiar voice ask, "So when are you gonna show me that sixth finger?" I turn around to see AJ standing a few steps above me. "Seriously, I'm interested." He's got on his shit-eating grin that I've come to identify him with.

He takes a closer look at me as I turn around and furrows his brow as steps down closer to me. "Please tell me the other guy looks worse."

"Actually, I never even touched the other guy," I explain, and he pulls a face.

"You've got to learn to stand up for yourself," he advises, and part of me thinks he may have a real point. He comes down another step, and I turn my head so that he can get a better look. It's out of habit, mostly.

"I was exhausted. I never would have stood a chance," I defend myself. "Better to flee and fight another day, and all."

He nods and waves a finger at me. "Very strategic of you." He takes a few steps down the stairs and motions for me to follow him.

"Weren't you going to see Emily?" I ask, trailing behind him and pointing back up the stairs.

He offers a large shrug and a head tilt. "Only technically," he says, lifting a finger in the air. "But I didn't necessarily need to see her specifically."

Okay, now, I'm lost. "What?"

He reaches into his hair, presumably to his ear and pulls out a spliff like magic. I swear it was completely hidden; he's got that much hair. "I just wanted someone to smoke this joint with," he explains, waving it in my direction.

I feel like I'm imposing. It feels as though he belongs to Emily in some strange way, and I have no right to him. I mean, he's part of her weird double life, and I don't know what will happen if the two mix. The results could very well be catastrophic.

On the other hand, I think it's important to remember that he is, in fact, a human being who has his own free will, and therefore belongs to no one but himself, and he invited me. It's not like there's some magical force field around their little group that will explode and destroy the world if penetrated.

What's the worst that can happen?

There are some that might call those "famous last words." Except they weren't spoken. Oh, whatever.

*****

"So tell me about Emily," I request before inhaling deeply on his spliff. We're sitting on a bench in the middle of a public nature trail, but hardly anyone ever comes out here, so it's almost like we have the place to ourselves.

He takes a drag and appears thoughtful. I can't say I really blame him. It is kind of a vague request. "Well," he says before exhaling long and slow. I'm trying to figure out why he found it necessary to say one word before doing so. I think he could have waited, but I fear this is going to remain one of life's mysteries. "She's a lesbian. She's hot, and that's always an unfortunate combination." I roll my eyes, but I can't help but chuckle, anyway. He takes a short puff on his spliff and passes it to me before continuing. "She's got a voice that can adapt to almost any genre, and that's why Shane and Bryan are so desperate to have her."

I'm tempted to travel further down this line of conversation, but it's not exactly what I had in mind. "That's not what I mean," I say, exhaling and passing it back to him.

"I know," he admits, nodding. "I'm not really the person to ask, though," he says with a slight shrug. "I don't really know her all that well."

That surprises me. I had gotten the vibe that they were all really tight knit. It's strange to think that even they can manage to get cliquey when there are only four of them, and I tell him as much.

He nods in agreement. "That's just people, though," he explains. "We're drawn to some people, we're repelled by others, and we don't relate the same way to any two people." He shrugs and tosses the roach into the woods. "That's just the way things are."

I'm starting to understand what Emily meant when she said there was more to this guy.

"Anyway, I would recommend asking Bryan," he says, and I'm surprised again.

"Not Shane?" I asked, confused. It didn't seem like Emily and Bryan talked much from the time I spent with them. I was sure she would have been closest to Shane.

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, Shane's kind of in love with her," he explains.

Well, he did wax awfully poetically about how they met. "The thought had crossed my mind, yeah," I admit.

"Well, I can imagine it makes things a little uncomfortable on her end, you know what I'm sayin'?" he theorizes, and jabs his elbow in my direction like we're sharing some kind of inside joke.

Maybe we are.

"Do you think I'm self-centered?" I ask him, and I have no idea why. It's a wildly inappropriate question, and how is he supposed to know, anyway?

He doesn't seem to mind, though, but takes his time in answering, and when he does, it's got nothing to do with me. "I think the only people who aren't self-centered are suicidal."

I let that sink in for a moment, and I have to admit he's got a point, even though I've never thought of it that way before. It makes sense, though, and for some reason, makes me feel better.

This kid really is growing on me.

Of course, it only lasts until I remember the last thing Emily said to me, and I'm not sure I can be both self-centered and self-loathing. Someone once said that contradictions don't exist. That if you're faced with one, you have to check your premises, because one of them is wrong. Who was that?

"So tell me about Emily," he demands, glancing at me and grinning.

I laugh and raise my hand to my mouth to stifle it. I don't mean to laugh, because I'm fairly certain he's serious, it's just so absurd that he should ask me that. I can honestly say I know next to nothing about Emily Fitch. "Why would you ask me that?" I ask.

"Same reason you asked me," he says, looking off into the trees. He turns to look at me and his smile is gone. "You know her in a different way than I do. Which Emily do you know?"

I don't know if it's because of the way he worded the question, or because he seems really wise in this moment, or because I'm just fucking baked and this place no longer feels like a part of the world, but I tell him. I tell him everything, starting with that fateful kiss in middle school. It's funny; I don't even remember how it happened, or how I felt about it, because the kiss itself isn't what's important. It's what happens after. The important part is Katie walking in on us and assuming I had jumped her sister, because no twin of Katie Fitch could ever be anything but boy crazy. I tell him about how Emily never spoke up and told her sister the truth, and all of the shit that got rained down on me for something I didn't do, all of the names I got called that belonged to her, and I never said anything, because my own morals just wouldn't let me out somebody.

Is it any wonder I have problems believing that anyone might actually like me?

I tell him about our time in Roundview, where Emily insisted on my invitation to everything she was invited to until it became habit for me to show up. I tell him about how she used to try to spend time with me by ourselves, but that I'd always find a way around it, and could anyone really blame me for not trusting her?

He agrees that one would be hard pressed to disagree with my line of reasoning, and it feels good to have someone see it from my point of view.

And I tell him about the other night. I tell him about the static that coursed through my body and crackled as she danced with me. I tell him about the creature that woke up in the pit of my stomach when I kissed her.

And I tell him that I think it all might be driving me insane.

And you know what? I feel infinitely better after I do.

"Well, I can't help you fix things with Emily, but I think the best things in life are broken, anyway," he reasons, and I'm trying to figure out exactly what he means. He turns to me and his gross smile is on his face and I brace myself for whatever he's about to say. "But I can help you with you… tension buildup." He raises his eyebrows and glances off into the trees, and his implication is difficult to miss.

This is another one of those moments when I know I shouldn't do something, but I do it anyway. I guess I figure I can't possibly fuck anything up worse than it already is, and what's the worst that can happen?

The best things in life are broken…

It's just that I wonder if maybe he has a point. Maybe my insanity can be reasoned away with something as simple as sexual frustration. It would be ludicrous to carry on the way that I am when a possible cure is sitting right next to me.

As I stand up and reach my hand out to his, I can hear Effy telling me I'm not this kind of girl. I can hear Cook asking what's wrong with me as he leads me through the woods, and I feel like I'm flipping them all the proverbial bird.

Why do I find it necessary to fuck everyone who cares about me?

I feel myself rise up out of my body as he kisses his way down my torso, and I can see the scene from above. I realize that his hair is almost the same length and color as my own, and he's such a small guy, that from behind he can pass for a girl. At this thought, he actually morphs into me. I watch as I go down on myself, and I am shaken.


	13. 12: Lost Without A Verse

**Author's Notes**

_Very, very important. If you are squeamish, or if the mention of perfectly natural things that happen to the female body offend you, you might consider skipping the last part of this chapter, or getting someone else to read it for you and edit out all of the eww parts. You have been warned, I am no longer liable._

_Warnings: philosophical!Cook, dream sequence, unintentional self-loving, accidental fluid play_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 12: Tales of Longing Sway, Lost Without a Verse**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

I wake up the next morning thinking about Cook. He's a strange thing to think about early in the morning, admittedly, but the truth is I have been neglecting him. I mean, this is James Cook, self-proclaimed lady's man, and now he wants to settle down with the most emotionally unavailable girl in the world. He's obviously going through something huge, and I missed it.

Because I'm apparently a self-involved raging bitch.

Unfortunately, I have class in an hour, so it's going to have to wait until later. That's okay, though. I've never known Cook to be the earliest riser in the world.

I call him almost as soon as I step foot outside my class for the day. It's going on one, and I think I'll take him to lunch if he's up for it, or rather, breakfast for him. He picks up after the second ring. "Naomikins!" he greets me in that excitable way he has and I feel the corners of my lips pull into a genuine smile; the first I've had in days.

God, I've missed this boy.

"Hey, Cook," I say, and even I can hear the smile in my voice. "Please tell me you're free, right now."

There's a pause, and when he speaks his voice is tight, and I know he's getting high, probably with Freddie and JJ, and I bite down my disappointment. Well, at least until I actually register what he says. "Okay, I'm free right now."

I perk up. "Really?" I ask, and cringe at how happy I sound. "Well, you want to join me for a bite to eat?" I ask my voice back to normal. "My treat."

"Well, hell yeah," he practically yells into the phone, and I have to hold it away from my ear. "I've been craving some snackage from that little ma and pa joint. You know the one."

I smile and nod before I remember that he can't see me over the phone. "Of course, I know the one," I confirm. I would have to have been living under a rock for the past several years to not know the place. It's Cook's absolute favorite.

It doesn't take me long to get there, but by the time I do, Cook's already there and ordered. I decide that I was correct in the assumption that he was with Freddie, since his famous shed is right around the corner, and on closer inspection, he does appear rather spliffed up.

I plop myself down across from him, and he smiles widely. That's the thing I love about Cook; it doesn't matter how often he hangs out with you, you always get the impression that he's happy to see you. It feels good, and it makes you look forward to seeing him every single time.

"How you do, love?" he asks me.

I shrug, because I don't want to lie to him, but I also don't want to tell him the truth. Honestly, I'm not doing very well at all. I have this intense sexual attraction to the girl I've blamed all of my problems on, and it keeps manifesting itself in the most fucked up ways. "Oh, you know," I say, with a wave of my hand. "I do…"

He looks at me strangely at my complete lack of actual answer, but he doesn't get the chance to mention it, because his food is ready. A hamburger, by the way, and I'm amused that he got one of the cheapest things on the menu. He thinks more about other people than anybody thinks.

I wonder, sometimes, why he keeps his kindness hidden.

"So what's going on with Effy?" I ask, before he has the chance to ask me any questions about Emily, and genuinely curious. This kind of think certainly doesn't happen every day, and I'm not going to let this meeting turn into something about me.

He shrugs, and I wonder if he knows he just tried to use my own stalling tactic against me. "She's scared," he says simply; matter-of-factly. He doesn't even seem upset at all, and I find it all kind of absurd.

"But Cook," I start, laying my hands down on the table. "What about you?"

He looks confused and shrugs again. "What about me?"

"Well, since when do you want commitment? Since when do you request it?" I ask, laughing nervously because the idea of Cook doing these things is slightly unnerving.

He smiles and chuckles and I'm even more disturbed than I already was. "That's where it was always heading anyway," he explains, as though it's common sense. "But she was never gonna take the first step, so it was up to me."

Please. This is Effy we're talking about here. Nothing goes anywhere unless she wants it to. She's even more of a control freak than I am. "How do you know she even wanted to take a step?" I ask, obviously skeptical.

He's quiet for a time, looking thoughtful. He brings his hands in front of his chest, letting his fingertips meet and his brow furrows, and I'm very frightened that he's going to say something profound. "If you don't move forward, then you're just standing still."

Yes, true, but I see nothing wrong with that. "So?" I ask, shrugging. "Maybe some things aren't meant to change."

He looks slightly appalled at my comment, and I think he's trying to figure out the best way to react to it. "If you don't want to go somewhere, if you don't want to do something, if you're completely satisfied with where you are, then what's the point of living?"

I think about this for a moment, letting it sink in. I understand his point, but surely it's not as simple as that. What if we all just kept "moving forward" without any regard to our surroundings and circumstances? It would be chaos. People would be ruined. "But isn't motion without purpose just as bad?" I ask.

Could somebody please explain to me how I managed to get into a philosophical debate with Cook?

These kinds of things don't just happen.

He tilts his head towards me, as though conceding the point, but then looks to think better of it. He pulls one corner of his mouth back and tilts his head from side to side, as though weighing his options. "I have a purpose," he comes up with at last. "I want to be with Effy."

"Okay, but why?" I ask, drawing the last word out. I can feel myself getting frustrated. "I mean, you have to admit, it's kind of out of character for you. You've always said you would never tie yourself down."

It just does not compute.

A sly grin creeps onto his face. "Aw, are you jealous?" he leers, raising his eyebrows in innuendo. All I have to do is set my mouth and arch an eyebrow and he laughs it off before becoming serious again. "See, it's not about tying myself down," he explains, glancing out the window. "It's about Effy. About being with her." He sighs at my blank stare and plows on. "I like the way she thinks; the things she's interested in, and her unusual creativity. It's about how gorgeous she is, I mean the sex is fucking great," he smiles, and I roll my eyes, but stay silent. I know he's not finished, yet. "And when I'm with her, I feel less alone." He breaks his gaze with me and turns it back out the window. "Less lonely…"

I say nothing, because this is a very intense, very personal moment, and I am very much an intruder. When he finally turns back to me, I can visibly see that his mood has lightened. "That's mind, body, and soul, right?" has asks, ticking them off on his fingers. "Well, I reckon that's what it's all about."

I close my eyes and sigh. "Okay," I say with finality. If this is what he wants, and he's sure, then who am I to try to hold onto my old image of him? There's still Effy to worry about, though. She's not going to give in just because he wants her to. "But what if she's not ready," I ask. "Or what if she just plain doesn't want to?"

He pops the last of his food into his mouth and swallows before answering. "Not really my problem," he says, and I feel my eyes widen. He holds up a placating hand, and I wait patiently for his explanation. "She either does or she doesn't, and that's for her to work through. I may or may not be around when she finally comes around, but trying to push her isn't going to do anyone any good."

Well, it turns out that Cook actually knows Effy pretty damn well. Who would have guessed it?

But something's still not right here. Something still feels off, or wrong somehow, and it takes me several minutes to put my finger on it. "It sounds horribly self-sacrificial to me," I say softly. A person can only be pushed so far, after all.

He makes a halting noise and puts his hand up, preventing me from continuing, and he's clearly prepared to clarify something. "I'm not waiting," he says, putting emphasis on the last word. "Not really. But I can be patient and let her pull her stunts until she either comes around, or there's something worth moving on for."

Okay. I guess that makes more sense. It just wouldn't have been right for Cook to waste away, pining his life away after Effy. It wouldn't be right for anyone, really.

"Enough of this junk," he says, waving at me, and it's like he's trying to wipe away the past conversation. "You and I need to discuss Emily." He tilts his head and points a finger at me; like I'm a child he's just caught stealing a pack of gum.

I really don't like the use of the word "need." It's doing funny things to my stomach, and I worry that word-vomit may be eminent. "There's nothing to talk about," I insist, even though I know full well he won't let me leave it at that.

Can't blame a girl for trying, though.

"Look, I'll make you a deal," he says, laying his hands flat across the table. "If you can explain to me why you're not with Emily, then I'll never bring it up again."

I have to admit, his offer sounds tempting. It would finally put an end to all of this nonsense, and then maybe I can finally get some peace. I'll simply explain that while Emily is a nice girl, she doesn't give me the fuzzies, and I just don't think we're compatible. I'll be lying, of course, but he'll have no way of proving that.

Except what actually comes out is, "I slept with AJ."

Well, there's that word vomit.

Though I suppose it could be interpreted as an explanation.

The series of faces Cook makes amuse me, though. He goes from confusion, to contemplative, to realization, a pause, and then it's back to confusion. "Who's AJ?" he finally asks.

I wave a hand in the air. "He's one of Emily's other friends," I explain. "Little tiny American boy."

The realization he had earlier comes back to his face, only to be replaced by shock. "Oh," he says, chuckling and shaking his head. "That's going to create a whole mess of problems."

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. "I'm well aware," I mumble.

"Okay, look, AJ aside," he starts, making moving gestures with his hands. I think he mostly just doesn't want to talk about it. "What is your deal with Emily? Why does she scare you?"

I shrug and bite down on my thumb nail. Honestly, I don't even know anymore. It's all gotten so convoluted, and backwards that I can't even pinpoint exactly when I lost myself.

"You really are fucked up, aren't you?" he asks gently, and I think that realization just now settled on him. He's not trying to make me feel bad. He's trying to understand, and it makes me want to cry.

"There are just so many things that can go wrong," I explain, my voice softer. "I don't know how to trust her." I've been conditioned not to, after all, and old habits die hard.

He smiles and laughs, and I know he's trying to lighten my spirits. "Okay, I know that getting picked on during adolescence can hinder one's ability to form connections later on in life and all, but don't you think it's time to let that go?" he asks, still smiling. "Think of it as a chance to overcome, and grow, and be awesome."

Sure. Tell me how.

"You know Emily cares about you." It's not a question, but a statement of fact, and somewhere in this tangled mess I call a brain, I know he's right. "Besides, you're not exactly innocent yourself," he points out, and he's right again. "You've put her through the ringer, and she's still around."

"But I don't understand why," I exclaim, arms flailing, and I'm surprised at my own outburst.

Cook maintains his composure, though, almost like he was expecting it. "That's not for you to understand," he says softly. "That's Emily's deal, and decision."

His answer calms me down somehow, and I have no idea why. "Look, bottom line," he continues. "Are you happy with the way things are, now?"

His question knocks the wind out of me as the implications behind it come barreling down and all of the pieces suddenly snap together, and I feel like I've been hit by a train. I look down and shake my head vigorously, afraid to deny it for fear of explosion, and I think I might weep.

Cook reaches across the table and takes hold of my hand, but I still can't look at him. "So then do something to change that."

*****

I'm standing in the middle of a field I've never seen before. I don't know how I got here, but I don't seem to care. I turn my head to look around, and my muscles are slow to respond. Everything seems slow; my breathing, and my heart beat. I'm surrounded by a heavy silence, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say I was underwater.

I hear soft, slow footsteps behind me, but before I can turn around, my eyes are covered by cold, slender hands. "Guess who," a voice whispers into my ear and their hot breath tickles against my skin. I reach my own hands up and take hold of the stranger's and lower them from my eyes, turning to face my companion.

Emily smiles sympathetically up at me before bringing one of her hands back up and laying it gently over my eyes. I don't pull back. I don't even want to. I just stand there and trust her as she takes away one of my senses.

Her lips brush against mine, and then they're gone, and I can start to feel myself sinking. Down and down I go, seeping into the earth beneath my feet. Emily's still on the surface, though, and as I sink below her, we lose contact.

I take a deep breath as I'm swallowed completely, a slightly uncomfortable pressure coming down on me from every side, and I wonder if I'm going to collapse in on myself, bones splintering and tearing through skin, and I really should be more concerned than I am.

It stops abruptly, and the air rushes back into my lungs, making my chest hurt. My eyes open in surprise, and the white light I'm surrounded by is painful. Why does it feel like I've never used a single part of my body?

Something takes hold of my hand, and I look to my side to watch Emily raise it slowly to her lips. Warmth spreads through my palm to my wrist, and down through the tips of my fingers, and I think she might have just put life back into it.

"How did you get here?" I ask.

She looks up at me and smiles sadly. "I'm always here," she explains gently, leaning down and pressing her lips against my wrist. The same warmth from before spreads halfway up my forearm, and I moan at the sensation.

She glances up at me sharply, surprised, but quickly dips her head back down to kiss the crook of my elbow. This time when she does it, she flicks her tongue across my skin, and the warmth spreads faster and further.

My arm feels more like my own, and I run my hand across her cheek, to the back of her head. I pull her towards me, guiding our faces together, needing to feel more of that heat, but she resists millimeters away from me, and I can hear myself whimper. "You're not ready," she whispers, and moves my hand away from her face, laying me down on my back.

She throws a leg across my body and straddles my hips, placing her hands on either side of me to support her upper body as she lowers her head down to my shoulder. I can feel my breath hitch as she grazes her teeth against my shoulder, and trailing her hand down my arm, life-sustaining heat radiating from her fingertips.

I take hold of her face with both hands and tilt her head upwards. She doesn't resist me this time, but meets me halfway. She sighs as our mouths meet, and it makes me lightheaded. I can feel the warmth spread its way through my organs as she slides her tongue against my teeth

She shifts so that she can change position, and she gently slides one leg between my own. She settles her body on top of mine, and the weight of her excites me. I wrap my arms around her shoulders as her fingers flutter from my side down to my thigh.

My eyes snap open as my door bangs against the wall. I look over to find Emily standing in the doorway, seemingly stunned at the scene in front of her.

Can't say I really blame her, though. I sleep naked, and I'm vaguely aware of a warm, thick wetness covering my fingers, but I'm not exactly awake, yet.

Well, this is embarrassing.

She recovers quickly, but she doesn't look like herself. She looks cold, somehow, or hollow. She steps into the room and closes the door behind her, and I'm too freaked out by the surrealism of it all that I don't really react. "Right. Let's do this," she says, quickly taking her shirt off and making her way over to the bed.

The next thing I know, her lips are crushed against mine, and I'm moving my hands to her face, groaning against her mouth.

She grabs hold of both of my wrists, and I can feel her nails dig into my flesh, and I know that something's wrong. She pins my hands to the headboard above my head, and grinds her hips against my own. Her breath is coming in hot pants against my face. Her eyes are closed, and she looks angry.

I start to say something, to tell her to stop, but my words get mangled when she sinks her teeth into the skin at the base of my neck. I know I'll have a welt there in a few hours time, and I wonder if maybe she didn't draw blood. I moan, but not in pleasure.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" she asks tauntingly, grinding herself against me again.

"It was. She's not wrong on that front. But not any more. Not like this. I finally muster enough strength to push her away from me, sitting up so that we're level with each other. My eyes travel to her cheek where I can see traces of my own fluids from my fingers glisten, and I blush as I fight the urge to lick it off her face. "Not like this," I mumble.

She notices me staring, and wipes her cheek, rolling her eyes as she examines her hand. She sighs, and puts her hand down on the bed, trying to discreetly wipe it on the sheet, but I notice it anyway, not that I care. When she speaks, her voice is angry and makes me jump. "Do you even think about the things you say before they come flying out of your mouth?" She stands up and suddenly seems more imposing. "Do you know what it means, Naomi, to want it, but not like this?" she asks, and I can tell that she wants an answer, but I can't seem to make my mouth work.

It's all happening way too fast.

She sighs at my silence, and I can feel her retrieve her discarded shirt from the floor and put it back on.

I will myself to speak, to tell her that I'm not happy, that I want her more than anything, and explain how scared that makes me. But I can't. My tongue has grown three sizes too large for my own mouth, and I can't seem to move it.

"I need to reach the breaking point," she says softly from the doorway. "I can't do this any more."


	14. 13: Shut Out And Confined

**Author's Notes**

_Sorry about the shortness of this chapter, but this really is all the story there is between the last chapter and the next. And since the next chapter looks like it may be a doozy, I figured it would be better to cut this one off here, and start the next one afresh_

_A companion ficlet told from Emily's POV has been requested a few times, and while I'm not planning on writing a companion piece exactly, I am kicking around the idea of a sequel told from her perspective, so you may be able to get to know her through that. Actually, I'm fairly certain I will be doing this, and calling it Octahedron, using The Mars Volta album of the same name as inspiration, so feel free to go listen to that and get a feel for the tone it'll have._

_Alright, I think that's it._

_Warnings: stalker!Naomi, the return of Bryan, name dropping_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 13: Shut Out and Confined**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

I don't know what's going on, anymore. I'm starting to get the feeling that Emily's dropped off of the face of the earth altogether. She won't answer any of my calls or texts, and there never seems to be anyone home every time I go over there. It's not even that she's just ignoring me, there's a certain stillness from within that can't be faked.

Nobody seems willing to tell me anything, either, though I'm sure none of them know, apart from Katie, and I think this is one of those rare secrets that she'll keep from everyone. I know there's no chance in hell she'll tell me a goddamn thing.

I assume Emily is with her "Lost Boys," as I've so dubbed them, but I don't even know where to start the search for them, so that knowledge doesn't exactly do me much good.

So I've taken to stalking her apartment building in my spare time.

Fuck off.

Day three and I've been out here for hours, hoping to intercept her either coming or going. I never do, and I don't know why I still bother.

Except there's something strange in the air tonight, and I'm curious to know what it is. I look down the street, catching sight of a cigarette cherry bobbing in the quickening darkness, and it hooks my attention. The figure walking towards me is hunched over, and lanky, wearing a simple black hoodie with the hood up, and it kind of makes whoever it is look like they might walk into a bank one fine Monday morning and go on a massive killing spree.

Yet, somehow, I'm not disturbed.

As the figure comes closer, it becomes evident that it's male, but it's not until he's passed me, either not noticing me, or simply ignoring me, that I recognize him as Bryan, and I follow him up the stairs.

"Go away," he says evenly without looking at me, sliding a key in Emily's door and letting himself in. He's obviously not expecting me to listen, though, since he leaves the door open.

"Where is she?" I ask, leaning against the door frame of her bedroom, and watching as he rifles through her drawers and shoves random articles of clothing into a bag.

"I'm sure she would have told you if she wanted you to know," he explains, pushing past me and making his way into the bathroom.

"I need to talk to her," I tell him, and I do my best to keep the panic out of my voice. He's tossing toiletries in the bag along with the clothes, and I really don't like the way this looks.

He examines a box of tampons carefully before putting them in the bag as well. Yes, Bryan, she's a girl. Girl things happen, on a fairly regular occurrence, I might add. He moves to stand in front of me, and his eyes are intense, and not at all the color I remember them being. His eyes had been a very clear blue when I met him, but now they're darker, and shaded with green. "It's not about you," he says, working to control his own voice, before shoving his way past me again and out into the living room.

I follow him, balling my hands into fists, my anger rising. "Look, you don't understand," I start, watching him opening and rifling through her cabinets. "You don't know what's happening," I try to reason as he pulls out a can of coffee.

I don't even want to know, really.

He slams it down on the counter and turns to face me, and I think he's just lost whatever control he might have had. "Goddamnit," he yells, and I jump. He looks significantly guilty and lowers his voice, though I think I liked it better when he was loud. I have to actually listen in order to know what he's saying, and it only makes it harder to hear. "I don't have to understand. I don't even want to know what's going on. All I know is that she asked me to come get some of her things, because she knew you'd be here, and would rather keep just the clothes on her back than to talk to you."

He picks up the coffee can and walks back into the living room, looking around in quick survey. His eyes fall on Emily's guitar, and he seems indecisive about something. He finally walks over to it and picks it up by the neck before turning to face me again. "That tells me that she doesn't want to hear whatever it is you have to say." He takes a few steps towards me, looks directly into my eyes, and says, "So just fuck off."

And before I know, I'm left alone in Emily's apartment, and I feel my legs buckle beneath me. I don't bother trying to fight it as sobs get ripped from my chest, and the tears come like blows.

I wear myself out eventually and slowly make my way to her bedroom, using the wall as support. I literally collapse on her bed, and bury myself under the covers. The linen smells like her, and I press my face into her pillow, and I never want to leave this place, again.

*****

It's a little over a week later, and I've already moved in. If anybody had told me a month ago that I'd be living in Emily's apartment, Emily or not, I'd have fucking laughed in their face.

Yet, here I am, afraid to wash the sheets because I'll lose the smell of her.

Yeah, I know. It's a little creepy.

It wasn't planned. I never actually meant to move in here, it just kind of happened. The first night turned into two, and then it became easier to bring a change of clothes so that I didn't have to go back home to change and get ready to go to class. Eventually, my things just accumulated, and now, here I am.

It's temporary, though. A landlord is going to wanting rent eventually, and I won't have it. The place will be cleaned out, and all of the remnants of Emily will be tossed away forever.

I guess I just want to keep her around a little longer.

But the end of the month isn't for another two weeks, so I try to push the thought out of my mind until it matters.

Effy's been by, once or twice, to try and talk some sense into me, and get me to leave, but it didn't do any good. I know what I must look like to everyone. I'm the sad little loser who can't deal with the consequences of her own actions, and isn't it pitiful that she wallows in the source of her own misery?

To be honest, I think I would be even more miserable away from here. I feel like a grieving loved one who can't leave the room of the deceased. There are relics of some old life that I can't bear to move. I feel like I've gotten to know Emily through the things she's left behind.

Her music collection has been the most enthralling for me to explore. I never knew her tastes were so eclectic. Sure, I knew she listened to a lot of underground stuff, but her collection is completely genre defying. I've been on journeys through kaleidoscopes with The Mars Volta, then up through space with Boards of Canada. My hands itch to touch her as Portishead and Massive Attack reintroduce me to my own sexuality.

But my favorite was moving through the underworld with Amanda Palmer and Tori Amos, and it's no wonder that she's got the presence she does if these are the women she's listening to.

Her books fascinate me as well. I wasn't surprised to find the entire Sarah Waters collection, but the presence of Tolkien took me by surprise. I also wasn't expecting to find so many biographies; Elizabeth Wurtzel, Dave Pelzer, Augusten Burroughs, and perhaps the most telling, Hunter S Thompson. That last one doesn't shock me nearly as much as I think it should.

I'm lying in the middle of the living room, smoking a spliff, reading Gonzo, and losing myself in the sounds of Lunar when I hear a key sliding into the lock. The only time I lock the door is when I'm home, since I don't have a key myself.

I sit up, wide-eyed, hurrying to put the spliff out and look like I belong here. Of course I don't belong here, anyone can see that.

I am so dead.

I catch a glimpse of red, and I feel my heart skip a beat. My stomach drops, however, as Katie steps aside, clutching a small piece of paper. Her hand hips directly to mine, and she's probably already on edge because of the music she had to have heard that shouldn't have been on. "What the fuck are you doing here?" she asks me, disgustedly. She shakes her head, as though trying to rid herself of the image of me. Sorry, Katie, I really am here. "Whatever," she mumbles to herself, and I don't think she actually wanted me to answer her. She looks at the piece of paper in her hand and moves into the bedroom. I don't know whether to call it mine or Emily's anymore.

I follow her because there's nothing else to do, and catch her taking a few of the pictures from the windowsill. She tucks the one of her and Emily, and the group shot under her arm, but doesn't touch the one of me. Katie looks like she's crossing things off on the piece of paper, and I realize it's a list of some kind.

A list that I am apparently not on.

Ouch.

She rifles through Emily's books, obviously looking for something, and it's amusing to watch her get more worked up by the second. She sighs and looks at me. "Where's Gonzo?" she asks, and I'm warmed by the knowledge that she assumes I know.

There was a time when that would have unnerved me.

"Um, I'm reading it," I explain, making nervous gestures to the living room. "I'll just… get it," I mumble, turning to leave the room.

"Wait," she stops me, and I turn back around. Her expression has softened, and I think she may actually be sorry. "I'll just tell her that I couldn't find it," she offers.

"Don't be silly," I say, shaking my head. "If she asked for it…" I let my sentence trail off, not really needing to finish it. The implication is enough.

Katie scoffs, though, and I'm not expecting that kind of reaction. I thought she would have been more than happy to take any connection I have to Emily away, no matter how small, or trivial, or actually completely made up it might be. "If she wants it so badly, she can come back and get it herself," she explains, and I realize that I'm not the only one who got hurt by Emily's sudden and complete disappearance.

"Do you know where she is?" I ask, trying to keep the eager out of my voice.

She sighs and shrugs, flopping her arm against her side. "She safe," she tells me, biting her lip like she's debating with herself over something. "I have to drive a ridiculous length in order to see her," she explains, sounding annoyed.

I guess I would be, too.

I know I'm not going to get any more out of her, so I don't even bother trying to question her further. She looks around at her surroundings, and shrugs, moving past me to the front door.

I feel a chance slipping away from me. It's a slim on, considering who I'm dealing with, but I know I'll never forgive myself if I don't try. "Could you," I start, and the words get tangled in my throat, and it makes me want to scream.

Katie stops and turns in the doorway, looking at me with an arched eyebrow. "Could I what?" she asks, typical Katie attitude back in place. "Spit it out, Campbell."

I sigh and take a moment to calm myself down. "Could you just tell her I'm sorry?" I ask, my voice low.

Her features soften again, and she pulls one corner of her mouth up in a small, sad smile. "Tell her yourself," she says gently, before turning and leaving.

How am I supposed to do that if she won't even talk to me?


	15. 14: Save You From That Evil Faith

**Author's Notes**

_This is your captain speaking. Please fasten your seat belts, as we will soon be experiencing some turbulence. Thank you for your cooperation._

_You guys have had such wonderful things to say to me recently, and I just want you to know that I love you guys. You're freaking awesome. I had never heard of Air before (though I do appreciate zero 7), but I agree, Emily would totally listen to "Universal Traveler."_

_I register for classes tomorrow, which means the new semester starts soon, which means I won't have as much free time on my hands, and I'm sure you don't need me to finish this sentence. I'm still working on it, though, have no fear.  
_

_Warnings: Naomi kidnapping, Katie schemes, urban legends from the other side of the world, trash can punch, bitchy and kinda slutty Emily_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 14: Save You from That Evil Faith**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

"Naomi, this is insanity," Effy tells me, watching as I shuffle around the kitchen. I've become quite the homebody, and it's taken everyone by surprise, including me. "You haven't been out with us in two weeks," she says, shoving two fingers in my direction for emphasis. "It's fucking time."

I stack a few clean plates and turn around to put them in a cabinet. I've kept Emily's original organization of things, despite it not making much sense. I sigh and turn back around to face Effy, and shrug. "I'm fine here," I try to explain, though I know it won't work.

Effy sighs through her nose and pulls out her cell phone. "I'm gonna need some help up here," she tells whoever she just called, and I arch an eyebrow at her smug face.

"What was that?" I ask, but she just smiles wider.

The door bursts open, and in saunters Cook like he owns the place. I open my mouth to ask him what the fuck he's doing here, but he quickly closes the distance between us and picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder.

"Cook, put me down!" I protest all the way down the stairs, punching him ineffectually on his back, Effy trailing behind us. He keeps hold of me as we reach the street, and continues walking, and I'm suddenly very afraid that he might actually carry me all the way to wherever we're going.

Wait a minute. Cook and Effy…? Speaking?

What the fuck did I miss?

I stop resisting and fall into my best rational voice. "Please put me down, Cook," I request. "I promise I won't bolt."

Sure enough, he stops and lowers me gently to the ground, keeping his hands on my shoulders as I regain my balance. He grins and takes a step back. "Some hermits just need a push out into the world, eh?" he reasons, and I flip him off. Of course, he just finds it amusing.

"Alright, so where are we going?" I ask, moving my hands to my hips and raising an eyebrow, trying to look imposing. I don't pull it off nearly as well as I was hoping, though.

"Well, I don't actually know," he explains, looking sheepish. "There's a party going on somewhere, but I'm not sure where. We're supposed to meet our escort at the country club," he explains, pointing in its general direction.

Wow. That seems way too hoity toity for the likes of Cook.

"So have you two kissed and made up, then?" I ask the two of them as we start walking.

"You could say that," Cook says, grinning and throwing an arm around Effy's shoulders, looking happier than I've ever seen him before.

I watch as Effy takes the hand hanging off of her shoulder and interlaces their fingers, and I hold back the urge to pinch myself in case I'm dreaming. "We've agreed to fuck each other exclusively," she explains. "But I refuse to wear the bracelet," she affirms, looking pointedly at Cook. "It feels like a collar."

"Which is funny, because it goes on your wrist," he counters, though it's obvious he doesn't care.

Wow. Even Effy and Cook can manage to get their shit together. I think I'm actually kind of jealous.

It's a balmy night, and I can feel electricity in the air. The air is heavy, but invigorating somehow, and it gives me the feeling that something is going to happen tonight. The only problem is that I don't know if it'll be good or bad.

Sometimes, no news is good news.

I catch sight of Katie as we approach our destination, and my curiosity goes up a notch. I can see her getting Freddie into a secret party, but I really doubt she'd let Cook in on it, and there's an even slimmer chance of either Effy or myself knowing about it. There's definitely something strange going on.

She smiles when she sees us, and meets us halfway to close the distance. "Oh, good, you got her," she says, glancing at me and apparently relieved. Now, I'm really scared. She's got something planned for me, and there's no way it won't be torturous. I have flashes of Carrie at the prom.

"Hey, I said I would, didn't I?" Cook says, laughing. "Took a little forcing, but…"

"Yes, you did very well, Cook," she cuts him off, holding her hand in the air, and looking around us. Who is she looking for? Who else is coming? "Would you like a treat?" she taunts.

Okay, so Cook's in on whatever this is. Wow, I am not going to be able to relax tonight.

"Yes, please," he says, licking his lips and leering down at her. Effy just smirks and I marvel at how their relationship hasn't changed in the least.

They're actually kind of perfect.

"Oh, right on," I hear a familiar voice come from somewhere behind Katie. She turns to face whoever it is, and Shane quickly comes into view, and I feel my breath shorten.

Fuck sake, just seeing her friends make me tingle. I must be fucking starved.

"Glad you guys could make it," he says, smiling and glancing to each of us in turn, shaking Cook's hand. Careful, both of you, you don't know where that hand's been.

"So…?" Katie asks him leadingly, brow raised, arms crossed, and hip cocked, and I giggle a little on the inside when Shane rolls his eyes before turning to her.

"So," he starts, hands outstretched. He points one hand in the direction of the club and says, "She's already inside." He drops both of his arms and glances in my direction before continuing. "And it looks like everything went smoothly on this end."

Katie, Cook, and Shane? I think I'm going to be sick.

Katie sighs and nods, and looks a little nervous. "Now's your chance, Naomi," she tells me, and I start to feel dizzy.

"What?"

I am so wonderfully articulate.

Shane smiles softly at me. "Now you're chance to tell her whatever it is you have to tell her," he explains, and I have to stare at the sidewalk and focus on staying upright.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, looking from Shane to Katie. It's not like either one of them owes me anything. It makes more sense for them to act as bumpers between me and Emily. This can't possibly be for my benefit.

"Well, as far as loyalties go, ours definitely lie with Emily," Shane explains with a shrug. "But we think you could do her some good?

"She's kind of turned into a cunt," Katie explains, seeing my confused expression.

Shane pulls a face at her, and tries to put it in better terms. "She's just got a lot of… anger," he says, making a fist. "She's not Emily, anymore."

Wait a minute. They're making it sound like I'm the secret to bringing Emily back, but I think I'm the reason she's gone in the first place. What do they expect me to do? Hell, she probably won't even give me the fucking time of day. They're probably throwing me straight into the line of fire, more than likely purposefully so that maybe it'll be calm after the explosion.

Then again, do I really want to let this opportunity pass me by?

And besides, Cook's in on it, too, and while he may sometimes be an idiot, I know he would never put me in a bad situation.

My conflict must be written allover my face, because Shane holds out a placating hand to me. "But that's not the point," he insists. "It's about letting you get your stuff off your chest," he explains, and it's so obvious that he's lying, but I guess it's nice that he's trying.

"Okay, look, can we just go, now?" Cook asks, throwing his arms in the air and pointing towards the building. "Nothing will happen if nothing happens, get it?"

Damnit, Cook, why didn't you fucking warn me?

"Yeah, yeah, come on," Shane says, and I find it very odd that he knows about places we don't. Oh, who am I kidding? This has Emily written all over it.

I expect to see children of the rich and mighty with little waiters with red bow ties mingling through them, serving pretentious little cheeses passing themselves off as delicacies, but we spend so little time in the front area that I don't see much of anything.

Shane leads us into a back storage room filled with shelves and filing cabinets, and shuffles some things around in the back corner. Cook goes over to help him, and the two uncover a hole in the bottom part of the wall just big enough for a grown human body to squeeze through.

I expect Katie to make some kind of disgusted comment, but she doesn't, and I know Effy's not going to question anything, so it falls to me to figure out what's going on. "What's that?" I ask, eyeing the hole wearily. I know I'm going to be going through it, and I would just like to know what I'll find on the other side.

"Okay, have you ever heard about the tunnels supposedly running under the city?" he asks, making strange hand gestures.

"I've heard of those," Effy speaks up, clearly intrigued. "Weren't they supposed to be built by some cult, or something?"

"Oh, yeah," Katie says, realization dawning on her. "They were used for like, human slave trafficking, or sacrifice." Shane nods his head and gestures to the hole in the wall. "No shit!" she exclaims. "I could have sworn they were just a myth."

Shane shakes his head smugly. "Nope. There are five entrances," he says, holding up all five fingers. "There's this one, one that's caved in, one up in Fuller's Cemetery, one in the basement of the grade school, which is kinda creepy, and one in the old abandoned hospital," he tells us, ticking each of them off on his fingers.

I have to admit, I agree with him on one being in the grade school. That's just sick.

Cook whoops, and claps him on the shoulder. "Man, I've been looking for an entrance to these things for years," he exclaims. "How'd you find them?" he asks, clearly somewhat jealous and upset that he never found them on his own.

Shane shrugs nonchalantly, and holds his hands out, pointing his index fingers down and waves them around spastically, explaining, "Well, once you find one of them, you find them all. They're all interweaved together in the shape of a star." He shoves his hands in his pockets, and smiles. "Emily found the one in the hospital and we all walked straight through them."

Now, I've gone out to that hospital a couple of times, and I've never seen anything like this. Hell, I've been out there with Emily a few times. Of course, there were other people with us. I thought we had seen all of it.

Am I the only one who thinks this idea is seriously morbid?

Shane climbs down the hole, feet first, and I follow suit. There's a ladder near the bottom of the hole, and my feet find it easily. I see Katie come down after me, so I keep my head down. We're fairly high up, and it's dark, so I can't see the ground, and I hold a little tighter on the rungs.

I don't know how far down we went, but it was a while, and when my feet finally touch the ground, it takes me by surprise. The darkness is complete, and the air is kind of dank. I blink several times, trying to adjust to my surroundings, but it doesn't help, and I think I nearly go blind when Shane turns on a flashlight.

"So how'd you find the one in the hospital?" Cook asks, stepping off the ladder, and joining Shane at the front of our little queue. I trail behind with Effy and Katie, and I'm slightly amused that we don't speak to each other at all.

"There was a mysterious hole down in the emergency room," Shane explains. I always found the emergency room the creepiest part of the whole place. There's just something really creepy about the air in there. I also know the hole he's talking about. Emily had gone down there once when I was there with her and Effy, but I was overcome with such an irrational fear that I made her come back. That hole didn't look anything like the one we just went through, though. "Well, it led to some underground hallway in the hospital, which led to an entrance to these tunnels," he explains. "Did you know there's no morgue in there?" he asks, curiously. "I wonder what they did with the dead," he ponders, and the thought disturbs me.

The tunnel is actually very large, though the ceiling's kind of low, and there's a musky sort of smell in it. I can feel it rush into my lungs, and make me sluggish. When we eventually get to a fork, Katie asks, "Which way?"

Shane shrugs, shining the light down each path. "Doesn't really matter," he says. "They all empty out at the same place anyway," he explains, and starts walking down the left path, so I guess that's the way we're going.

The further we walk, the warmer it gets, and the air gets foggy and heavier. The air doesn't smell as musky anymore, but slightly toxic. I can feel my mind begin to unravel with each breath I take. We start to pass people, who are lined against the walls, smoking or drinking or groping, and bass starts to throb through the soles of my shoes. The people become more frequent, and my contact high gets worse, and the music grows louder until we empty out in a huge pentagonal chamber.

Someone has taken glow necklaces and splattered them all over the walls again, and I wonder which one of them likes that look so much, not that I'm necessarily complaining. My bets are on AJ. There's a strobe light going from the center of the ceiling and it highlights the smoky atmosphere, and I wonder if we're all going to suffocate down here.

The same tables that were set up in the church are arranged in a square in the center of the room, and as I work my way through the crowd, I can see kegs and huge water dispensers that turn out to be filled with a substance I can only call "trash can punch" on them. I think it's got some of every kind of alcoholic beverage in it, and it feels like glass on the way down.

Clearly designed to fuck you up.

I notice lemons floating in the top of one of them, and I discreetly fish one out, sliding it in my mouth. The alcohol content is through the roof, and I'm already buzzing. It's easier on my stomach than the drink, though, and the point is to get as fucked up as I possibly can, anyway.

I start to listen to what's playing through the speakers, and feel myself grooving. It takes me a few minutes, but I eventually recognize it as a song by Ghostland Observatory, having stumbled upon it at Emily's one day. I feel my shoulders start to move to the beat, and start to make my way through the crowd. Endorphins rush through my veins, and you can smell the pheromones in the air, see them slide down skin in sweat.

Alright. I can do this. I know that Emily's somewhere in this mass of bodies, and my courage is up. My eyes scan for any glimpse of red, and there are a few false alarms where I feel my heart jump into my throat, only to swallow disappointment. I eventually do find her, though, dancing, clutching a glass in one hand, and chewing on a piece of fruit, and I feel like someone who's been lost in the desert and has just found a huge lake to jump into.

I take a deep breath, and knock back the rest of my drink before tossing the empty plastic cup on the floor. I decide it's now or never. I don't know when I'll see her again, after all. I close my eyes, and let the music move through me, loosening up and letting the moment drive me. I slowly make my way over to her, her back to me. I dance near her, and then I dance with her, and I have to force myself not to jerk away when my hands move to her waist, because the electricity under my fingertips literally burns.

She pushes back against me, and I don't think she knows who I am, yet. I let my hands slide their way down to her hips and she snakes her free hand up and through my hair, and I'm reminded of our "date" about a month ago, and it feels like we're just reenacting.

She tugs lightly at my hair, but pauses after she runs her fingers through the length. I can feel her finger the tips of my hair, pulling it down to see where it falls on my neck. Her hands practically fly to my wrists to pull my own off of her, and she and turns around to face me. She doesn't look like herself. Her eyes are pale, and her face is screwed into an almost gruesome mask, and before I even have the chance to open my mouth, she shoves me violently away from her, and into the people behind me.

Bodies quickly move into the space between us, and I soon lose her in the crowd.

Well, that went well.

I run into Effy as I try to force my way back to the center of the room, and I guess I don't look well, because she simply grabs my hand and pushes through anonymous bodies, creating a pathway for me, and I'm amazed that someone so little can have such force in them. "Did you find her?" she practically yells in my ear so I can hear her over the music, and hands me a fresh glass of punch. Even still, she's just barely loud enough for me to make out.

I nod, not even trying to be heard over the throbbing around us. I do my best to look as miserable as possible so that maybe I won't have to attempt an explanation, and I guess it works, because Effy's waving a bullet at me, and telling me to try again.

I wave her away and shake my head. Things don't go up my nose, it's never anything good. Best case scenario, you're facing a potential mild heart attack, and at worst, you're about to spend the next several hours slowly dying and actually live to tell the tale about it, and that just seems wrong to me.

I wonder where Cook is, and why he's not attached to Effy's hip, but then I remember that he never was before, and there's no actual reason for him to start now. It just would have been convenient for him to have morphed into an attentive boyfriend, because I can use a spliff, and he's always got some.

I stop at the edge of the crowd, and inhale deeply. Surely, there are at leas fifteen circles going at this exact moment in time, and it's just a matter of figuring out where. People are generally pretty generous at these kinds of things. I pick a direction, and find Shane and AJ passing a pipe back and forth between them in the entrance to one of the tunnels, and I make my way over to them.

"You find her?" Shane asks me as I approach. It's significantly quieter over here.

I sigh and nod, and offer a futile kind of smile, and he mirrors it before holding the pipe out to me, which I take thankfully. I fill my lungs with smoke, more than usual, and hand the pipe back to him, biting back the cough that's trying to force its way out of me.

"She's over there if you'd like to try again," Shane offers, pointing her out in the crowd. As soon as I spot her, she turns and catches my eye, before quickly glancing at Shane and AJ. My own eyes flit over to AJ, and I nearly collapse into a coughing fit as the wind is knocked out of me, and the smoke is expelled from my body, and it feels like part of my soul is getting ripped out through my mouth.

God, that hurt.

When I compose myself, she's still standing there, only now she looks viciously amused. I bite my lip, pull my shoulders back, and shove my way through the crowd, trying to look as sure of myself as I can, but I'm fairly certain she can see right through me.

I think she always could.

She arches a challenging eyebrow at me, as I stand in front of her, and her smile grows wider as I notice a pair of slender arms snake their way across her waist. She turns from me and wraps her arm around some tiny, olive skinned, dark haired, curvaceous number, and with one last glance at me, she dips her head down, and practically shoves her tongue down the other girl's throat, and I feel more disgusted than anything else.

I roll my eyes and walk away. Whatever Fitch. You're fucking showing.

There's no point in me staying here. Not really. We all should have known this was doomed to fail. I look around the chamber, trying to figure out which tunnel leads where, but nobody's thought to label them. Great. It could take me all night to get home, depending on where I end up, and I don't particularly fancy wandering around the tunnels all night, looking for the right one.

"You're not leaving, are you?" Katie shouts towards me as I pass her, and start walking down a tunnel. I just hope this doesn't go to the exit that's caved in.

I sigh and turn around to face her, confused by the fact that I feel it necessary to offer her some kind of explanation. "Yeah, I…" I start, pointing towards the last place I saw Emily. "This is pointless," I declare with a shrug and a sad head shake.

"You're just not trying hard enough," she exclaims, and I'm shocked at how angry she is. I don't know why. This kind of behavior is perfectly in character for her. "How many times has she tried to prove her feelings for you?" she asks, pointing in the direction I did earlier, and I flinch at her vitriol. "It's your fucking turn!"

Fuck, she's got a point. I hang my head and sigh before turning back to the party, but not before I catch sight of a smug grin creep across her face.

Cunt.

I catch sight of Bryan as I maneuver through people in my search for Emily, and when he sees me, I see his angry face fall into place. What, is he like, the older brother she never had? He starts to make his way towards me, so I duck down, and put some more distance between us, trying to lose him in the crowd. There's no way I'm going to let him intercept me.

I have to duck behind some people gathered around a tunnel mouth, and take a few steps inside, trying to get swallowed in the darkness, and it's one hell of a coincidence that this is where I find Emily.

Of course, she's got the girl that's the complete opposite of me pinned against the wall, with her hand up her skirt, and the same disgust from earlier comes washing over me. "You're busy, so I'll keep this short," I say, and she hits the wall next to the girl's head with her free hand, but doesn't look at me; doesn't acknowledge my presence or interruption at all, really. I understand now, what Shane meant when he said she had a lot of anger. "I'm sorry, for everything," I say, and she finally looks at me, poker face firmly in place. "I miss you. I wish you'd come home."

I see her eyes soften, and I know I've reached her on some small level. There's more I want to say, but I can't, because she's already turned her attention back to the girl against the wall.

It doesn't matter, though. I've done all I can do, and now I can only wait.


	16. 15: Strong Black Vine

**Author's Notes**

_This chapter practically wrote itself, even if it took a little longer than expected. It got a little delicate towards the end, there._

_Warnings: vomit, emo!Naomi, Fight Club reference, the return of Emily_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 15: Strong Black Vine**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

I don't put any thought into the direction I take to leave. I just go, needing to get out of the atmosphere and back on solid ground. I feel myself descending back into myself the farther I walk, and the dark doesn't bother me. It's actually kind of nice, and I'll take any comfort I can get right now.

I can't seem to figure out where I am inside my head. I can't seem to come to an actual conclusion about anything. I miss Emily, but not the one I just left. I think I'd be okay if I never run into her ever again, but I know that's ridiculous. Anger is a natural occurrence for anybody alive, it's just that I had never seen it on Emily, and she just looked so ugly with it.

I shiver at my own thoughts as I approach a ladder, and I realize that it didn't take nearly as long as the trip to the party did. It was probably the exact same distance, though, and merely felt shorter due to being familiar with the route. The human mind's a tricksty bastard, and enjoys toying with us.

I lean my head back, and my eyes skim up the ladder, following it into the darkness. It seems like such a very long way up, and I'm already drunk, but not so far gone to think this situation isn't dangerous. If I attempt to climb up now, I'll almost surely fall to my death. But if I stay here, stay still, I'm afraid I might break forever.

I clearly did not think this situation out thoroughly enough, because if I had, I wouldn't have been so eager to get this fucked up.

I grasp one of the rungs and lean my body against the ladder, and the metal is cold against my cheek, the chill grounding me somehow. I sigh deeply, a last ditch effort to steady myself, but it just causes a wave of nausea to wash over me.

Someone's coming. It's so quiet and still down here that the echo of movement against the walls is unmistakable, and I can see the faint glow of a cell phone as it's being used as a flashlight. I stand straight and try to appear calm and fine, but I guess I must have moved too fast, because I can feel the bile begin its rise up my esophagus.

I manage to make it a few steps before my legs give out from under me and my stomach heaves. I expect a rush of all of my insides to splatter against the ground, but I find my muscles having to work against a string of goo, and help it on its way, and it feels as though something important is slowly being pulled from my center.

It hurts. It hurts so badly that my eyes water as I heave and heave and watch as this thing creeps out of my mouth.

I begin to sob, because there's no other reaction for me to have.

The footsteps come fast, and then there are arms around me, and a hand smoothing my hair away from my face. "It's alright, love, let it out," Cook coaxes into my ear, and it only makes my sobbing harder, and he holds me a little tighter.

"Oh, Cook," I say, looking up at him when I'm finally empty, and wrap my arms around his neck.

"It's alright, Naomikins," he says, and I can tell that even he thinks he's lying, but I guess it's nice that he's trying. "Can you hold onto me?" he asks, shifting so that his back is to me, and pulls my arms around his shoulders and across his chest, and I nod against his shoulder blade as he stands up, carrying me piggy-back.

There's something calming about the repetitive movement of his muscles as he starts the climb back up to the earth's surface. I press my face against his back, soaking up the clammy warmth from his exertions, and I feel myself begin to drift off to sleep.

I fade in and out of consciousness, hovering somewhere above my body, and I'm vaguely aware of a change of direction from skywards, to forwards, and I wonder why Cook doesn't try to get me to walk on my own. Not that I'm complaining, really, because we've come out in the hospital, and it makes it easier to deal with if I don't have to look at it.

Though, I still get the feeling that something's going to pounce on me from the ceiling.

I refuse to open my eyes until we get out of the emergency room, knowing that in my inebriated state I'll just freak myself out, and possibly hurt both myself and Cook in the process, but when I do finally crack my eyes open, I wish I had kept them shut just a little longer. There's one other spot aside from the emergency room that I've always found unsettling, and we're currently traveling over it.

On one end of the hallway, there's a dried pool of something dark, and it looks like whatever it was trickled its way down the hall. The only problem is that the floor slopes upwards in that direction.

So, you know, that should be physically impossible, and seeing it causes me to hold on tighter to Cook, and bury my face in his back again.

"Sorry, but you've got to do this part yourself," he says, jostling me awake. God, I'm fucked up, and the realization of just how much dawns on me as he crouches down, and my feet hit the ground, and the world spins for just a minute.

We're at that one knocked out window on the end of a wing that's hidden by the shadows of a nearby tree, and he wants me to climb out by myself, which I guess makes sense, since I'd probably get torn to shit on broken glass if he tried to get out with me on his back. I position myself next to the window and brace my hands on either side of it, propping my feet up on the sill. "Alright, on three," he says, putting his hands on my waist so he can help me on my journey, but I surprise him and myself by pulling myself up and through the window before he even starts counting. I suppose muscle memory is not to be underestimated.

Coming down is a little bit trickier, and I think I trip over my own feet as I set them down. I think I would have gone toppling to the ground, but I still had a hand against the wall, and I wrap my fingers around the edge of the window, and instead swing around to collide with the wall.

As if I needed any more hurt tonight.

Cook sticks his head out of the window for a second before pulling it back inside and climbing out himself. "Are you alright?" he asks, coming over to me and putting his hand on my shoulder, and his concern, and the situation, and the night in general amuse me to the point that I actually start to laugh.

He doesn't look at me like I'm crazy. He doesn't try to get me to stop. Instead, he joins me, and it feels like we're sharing in some inappropriate joke, and I think I might cry.

He smiles at me when we both calm down, and puts his arm around my shoulders, guiding me to the street. When we're about a block away from the hospital, he releases his hold on me and pulls out his cell phone, saying, "Let's call a taxi, yeah?" and I have to agree that it's a good idea, since I live all the way across town.

We wait in silence, and Cook chain smokes, and then there's still more silence during the ride, and when the driver stops, we're outside of Emily's apartment. I try to explain to Cook that I don't want to be here, that I'm afraid of her presence, but because of the silence, I appear to have forgotten how to speak, and I certainly don't have the strength to resist him in any way as he practically carries me up the stairs.

I would have been fine on my own from there, but Cook goes so far as to help me out of my shoes after helping me into bed. I grasp the covers in my fists and wrap them around my body. I'm overwhelmed by my own scent, and this time I do start to cry, because this can only mean that she's gone to me forever, and nothing is going to bring her back.

My hand reaches out to Cook, not being able to handle my surroundings and myself, and he sighs sadly before sliding into bed with me and wrapping his arms around my shoulders, and it's only then that I can drift off to a dreamless sleep.

*****

I had been expecting Emily to come and reclaim her apartment, but she didn't. Part of me thought that since we had been to the same party a week ago, that meant that she'd be coming back, not just to me, but to Katie and everyone. Except then I remembered that this was one of those Lost Boys events, and had nothing to do with our little group, and the only reason I was there was because Shane wanted me to be.

I feel like the main character in Fight Club, with his insomnia that makes him feel isolated from the rest of the world. It's like I'm technically functioning; I'm eating, I'm bathing, I'm going to class, but I don't really know exactly why anymore.

I don't know what it is I'm working for, and I wonder what kind of havoc I might be wreaking in those hours where I simply space.

I'm circling through the apartment, packing my things, and whatever pieces of Emily I can't bear to part with, because the end of the month is two days away, and I figure it's easier to be gone than try and deal with an angry landlord.

I'm contemplating the picture of me when I hear the door open, and I poke my head out of the bedroom to investigate the intrusion, and I have to concentrate in order to keep my knees from buckling underneath me.

Emily's coming through the door with her guitar positioned under her arm, and I watch as she tosses a big black duffel bag into the living room. She hasn't noticed me, yet, and leans her guitar against the wall and steps back outside for a second, returning with a small amp, and I wonder for a moment where she got it.

By now, I've stepped out into the living room, nervously playing with my own hands. She sees me as she steps back inside, but doesn't appear surprised. She simply slows her movements as she sets the amp down, and won't take her eyes off me. She stands up straight and crosses her arms over her chest, and tilts her head ever so slightly. "Yeah, I heard you were staying here," she says at last, before moving to close the door, and I sigh in relief, because she doesn't sound angry.

She doesn't sound happy either, but baby steps are fine.

I open my mouth to speak, but there are so many things that want to come rushing at her that they all get wedged in my throat. I want to apologize again, in case she didn't understand the first time. I want to ask her where she was. I want to explain why I'm here, but I can't seem to do any of these things, and I actually grunt in frustration.

"Careful, you might hurt yourself," she deadpans as she crouches in front of her duffel bag and unzips it, rifling around in its contents, and while I know she wasn't trying to make me laugh, I do anyway. I've taken so much to laughing at inappropriate moments that I might laugh at my own mother's funeral.

She looks up at me with an arched eyebrow, producing the random coffee can Bryan had taken and makes her way into the kitchen with it. "I'm sorry," I say between chuckles. "It's not funny," I continue, my voice returning to normal. "None of it is." She sighs and slides the coffee can into a cabinet, and we're silent for a few minutes before I have to break it. "What are you doing here?"

She furrows her brow and turns her head. "Isn't this conversation backwards?" she asks, gesturing. "I do pay rent, after all," she snarks, shrugging her shoulder, and it freaks me out how much she looks like Katie.

"I thought you were gone," I say, and even I know how lame I sound. I just don't know how to explain further, because I'm not sure I even know how I wound up here. "It just… happened."

She nods, like she's taking in the information and deconstructing it, but it's too deliberate, and I brace myself for the sarcasm. "So, you thought you'd just settle in?" she asks, and she sounds like she could throw in a scoff and an eye roll, and I'm glad she doesn't.

I shake my head, trying to wipe everything away; this situation, my own insanity, but I'm still here when the motion stops. I sigh, screw up my courage, and walk past her, pausing just slightly next to her, and move to the door. "Wait," she says, turning around, and when I face her she looks more like the Emily I remember, and my heart flutters. She sighs and flops an arm against her side, looking a little unsure, and I wish I knew where it came from. "Sorry about the party."

"I wish you'd stop apologizing to me," I mumble, and I think she's as surprised as I am that I said it. I honestly have no idea where it came from, but that doesn't make it any less true. It's interesting, what you know without being aware of it. "You and I both know I don't deserve them."

She shrugs and shoves her hands in her pockets, and I release an internal sigh of relief, because I know by now that means she's nervously hopeful, so maybe something's salvageable here, eventually. I have to tread lightly and carefully, though, because it can all go to shit very quickly. "Habit," she says, "I apologize a lot."

I take two steps towards her, not daring to try to move any closer, and I can tell she notices, even if she doesn't say anything. "I wish you wouldn't," I repeat, not quite being able to meet her gaze, and the mood starts to feel familiar. There's tension, and it's uncomfortable, but it's familiar, and I don't feel so scared.

She chuckles, and the ghost of a smile graces her lips. "It kept the peace growing up with Katie," she explains with a wave of her hand, and I think we may have gotten over the biggest hump, even though she's obviously still guarded.

We're quiet for a minute, and I decide that now is as good a time as any to tell her that I'm not going to run away anymore, that I'm ready to explore whatever it is that's always been between us, and possibly throw myself at her feet and beg for forgiveness for wasting so much time, but by the time I open my mouth, she's dragging her duffel bag across the living room floor and into the bedroom.

She laughs, and I can't help the smile that spreads across my face, because it sounds real and natural, and it's been way too long since I've heard it. "Were you going to make off with my things?" she calls, still laughing.

I make my way over to her bedroom and lean against the wall, crossing my arms across my chest, and trying not to blush. "I didn't know you were coming back," I say, fighting the urge to hide my face in my hands, finally losing said battle when she throws a knowing smirk my way.

I straighten my face and look up at her, and the mood has shifted, become serious again, and tense. I set my mouth in a line and push off from the wall, making my way over to stand next to her, and peer into my own open bag. She's talking about a tiny brown stuffed bear, and I reach in and pick it up by one of its tiny little feet. Its nose is crooked, and the cloth's nearly threadbare, and it looks like something she's had since birth, and I wondered many times why she hadn't asked Katie to get it for her. "AJ gave that to me," she explains, watching me muse about the stupid thing. "I think he found it somewhere."

I raise my eyebrows and toss it on the end of her mattress. She bends down to grab it, but she's got to lean over my bag and across me in order to get to it, and I wonder if maybe it wasn't deliberate. I can't seem to know anymore. "You can have it if you want," she says, spinning the bear by his stubby arms between her hands.

"No, thanks," I say, waving her off and smiling, and trying to ignore how close we've gotten. If I look closely enough, I can just make out her pulse under the skin of her neck.

There doesn't seem to be a point in holding onto something she doesn't care about.

I sigh and move around her and lower myself to the edge of the mattress and look up at her. "I mean it, you know," I say quietly. "I really am sorry."

She shakes her head and looks like she's going to protest, but I hold up a hand and she falls silent. "Stop trying to make everything I do okay. It's not okay, and I need to live with that," I explain, and watch as she bites her lip and nods. "I was scared, Emily," I say, looking down at my hands in my lap. "I guess I still am."

"Naomi…" she starts, but I shut my eyes and shake my head, so she doesn't continue. I can't handle her comforting me right now.

"But I'm miserable," I confess, and it shocks her so much that she sits where she stands, so now she's sitting on the floor across from me, and being level with her makes this conversation harder. "I'm miserable, and I don't know how to make it stop."

"I'm miserable, too," she says, and it's the first time I've actually seen her sad. I would always catch flashes, but she'd never let them linger. "You know you've pulled some shit, right?" she asks, and her voice is stronger, more normal and stable, and I look away from her and nod before she continues. "I mean, you string me along for years, which I guess is just as much my fault as it is yours, but just when I think you've finally let me in, you close right off again, only to come back and suggest nothing more than adolescent experimentation, knowing full well how I feel about you," she says calmly, and I can't help but notice the lack of past tense. "I just... needed to get away from everything, from you."

"Do you feel better, now that you have?" I ask, quietly.

She runs her fingers through her hair and sighs. "I'm better now that you've apologized," she explains slowly. "And I'm better now that I've gotten to tell you why I'm upset in the first place."

I nod, because it's only fair, but now I don't know what to do. "Where does that leave us, then?" I ask, catching her eye.

"I don't know," she admits with a small shrug. "Where do you want us to be?"

I don't know. That's the whole point I'm trying to get across here, but I'm somehow not surprised when I open my mouth, and say with all seriousness, "Kiss me. Please."


	17. 16: Cosmic Flavor

**Author's Notes**

_Oh, no! My old SON stuff was mentioned! I look back on a lot of that and just cringe, though In the Sun is still pretty good, even if its language is somewhat… simple. And Smoke and Sex is good by any standard. The rest should probably just be burned._

_I hate hate hate hate hate writing these scenes. So you'd think I wouldn't have an entire chapter dedicated to it, right? Well, turns out, I did write an entire chapter dedicated to it, even though I didn't mean to._

_I just realized that you guys have been asking for this since the end of chapter three. I'm impressed by your patience._

_Warnings: none (seriously, the rating is warning enough, sit back and enjoy)_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 16: Cosmic Flavor**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

She looks at me, and for a minute it looks like she might say something, but she shuts her mouth tightly, and pushes the tip of her tongue out to taste her lips, and I can already feel my breath shorten. She leans forward, and crawls the short distance between us. It's not sexy, it's simply easier than getting up and walking the two steps only to get right back down again. She tucks her feet underneath her, and our knees are touching. I inhale deeply as she takes one of my hands and sets it on top of her own, tickling my palm with the pads of her fingers. She snakes her free hand through my hair, stopping at the back of my head, and brings our faces close together, and I can feel every hair on my body stand on end as I breathe her in.

"Do you know," she starts, her dark eyes looking back and forth between my eyes and my mouth, and I don't ever remember being this turned on in my life, "what exactly you're asking for?"

A shiver runs through me, and a choked whimper falls unbidden from my lips, and the sound of it makes it even harder to breathe. "Yes," I say, and it's nothing more than a shaky gasp. I lean forward, just a hair, needing her to make the first move, to show me where the line is.

Slowly. Way too fucking slowly, she brings our lips together, and it's so light that it almost tickles. Her mouth is open, though, and her breath tastes like coffee and stale marijuana, and I'm surprised at the effect it has on me, though, it could be because it makes a strange sort of sense, and I find myself whimpering once again in frustration.

She pulls away to look at me, and the smirk on her face does things to me I've only dreamt about. She places her hands on the mattress behind me, and leans forward, coaxing me onto my back until she's hovering over me, her hair falling around our faces like a bright red curtain. I bite my lip in an attempt to stop shaking, and trail my fingers up and down her arms, reveling in the tiny goose bumps I feel raise beneath my touch, and I see her eyes shut against the sensation. She starts to lean down, and I meet her halfway, pressing our lips together harder than she had intended, and she makes a little noise of surprise, and I can't help but try to think of ways to make her make that sound again. I raise my arms up and wrap them around her neck, pulling her down on top of me, and she's forced to take her weight off of her arms, and press our bodies together.

She opens her mouth against mine, and I'm more than happy to follow her lead, and as she kisses me it feels like she's pouring herself into me, and taking parts of me in return, and I know I'll never be the same again.

I can't bring myself to care.

She runs her hands over my shoulders, and I can feel them brush against the sides of my breasts, and slide along my sides, and another tremor travels through me. I can feel her smile against my lips as her fingers slide under the hem of my shirt, her fingers brushing against my bare skin, and I work my leg up towards her hip, somehow bringing her closer to me. I gasp as she walks her fingers up my abdomen, coming to rest just under my bra, and she chuckles into my mouth. My own hands move from her back to the top button on her shirt, easily popping it free from its hole, and then move onto the second, delighting in the fact that I can make it just as hard for her to breathe.

She finally moves her mouth from mine, and I've forgotten what oxygen is; it tastes strange and foreign across my tongue. She pulls me up into a sitting position, my legs wrapped around her hips, and hooks her thumbs under the bottom of my shirt, pushing it up until it bunches around my chest, and I raise my arms so that she can remove it completely. Her shirt is halfway unbuttoned and I'm fascinated by the way her muscles shift under her skin, and my hands move to finish the job as soon as my own shirt's off. I watch her pull her bottom lip into her mouth as I slide her shirt down her shoulders, and toss it off to the side. She takes hold of my face with both hands, and swallows my moan of surprise.

I lift up just a bit, and reverse our positions, making sure her back hits the mattress softly, straddling her hips. I have to stop and look at her, her dilated pupils, and the way her lips part ever so slightly each time she exhales. I bite my lip and watch my own finger move across her collarbone, and I can hear her work to keep her breath steady. I follow the line of her bra strap with the pad of my finger, stopping when it fans out across the slop of her breast. I look up into her eyes, wondering if mine are anywhere near as dark as hers, and I lean down to kiss her again.

Her hands move to grasp at my thighs as I push my tongue between her lips, and I'm surprised I haven't gotten used to the way she tastes, yet. She moans and arches her back against me, and I take the opportunity to work my arm between her back and the mattress. I bite down on my nerves as my fingertips find her bra clasp. This shouldn't be too hard. I've been taking my own bra off for years, and I understand the mechanics. Just a squeeze in the right direction, and…

Fuck!

She pushes me up and off of her until I'm sitting on her pelvis, and props herself up on her elbows, and her lip curls into a taunting smirk. She leans forward to kiss me quickly on the lips, whispering in that low husky voice of her, "It's okay. You'll get it eventually," and I have to shut my eyes against the tremor in my spine, and when I exhale, it's fragmented. She leans away from me, and I can only watch as she maneuvers her hands behind her back. There's a small tug, and then the straps slide freely down her arms. I can feel her eyes on me, and I think I lick my lips.

"Come here," she half whispers and half whimpers, grabbing me by the back of the neck and pulling me back down on top of her, seemingly determined to breathe my air forever. She wraps her other arm around my back, and before I know it, my bra is gone. I think it might have disappeared, and our groans combine into a single sound as our skin comes in contact for the first time.

She does something with her leg, but it's too quick to catch before I'm on my back again, and I make a note to ask her about it later. It's just that right now isn't a great time, because I think I've forgotten how to talk. She kisses her way down to my neck, flicking her tongue against my already damp skin, and her fingers brush against my bare nipple. My lower abdomen involuntarily quakes as she cups my breast, and presses her thumb against my hardening nipple, but I don't feel like I might die until she lowers her head to the other side of my chest, and covers the other one with her lips. I bury my fingers in her hair, and I can feel my body bend under her touch, and I have to remind myself that we're just getting started.

My hand stays tangled in her hair, nails raking lightly across her scalp as she kisses her way further down my body. I moan against my bottom lip as she circles her tongue lazily around my bellybutton as her hands skim down my sides to my pants, working the button open and the zipper down, and a wave of warmth rushes from my toes and fingertips to settle uncomfortably between my legs, and I find myself grinding against her almost instinctively.

She smirks up at me, and kisses my belly one more time before she's sitting up between my legs, and pulling at my jeans from the bottom of the legs. I raise my hips long enough for them to slide down across my bum, and then pull my legs up and towards me, helping her get the damn things off. They suddenly feel very constricting. She scoots backwards, and I groan in frustration as it's the opposite direction I want her to be heading, and I still haven't remembered how to form words. I think that's a skill I'll be missing for a while, but she just chuckles at my inarticulate impatience, turning my legs to jelly as she trails her middle finger up the outsides of my calves. My toes dig into the mattress and the sheets as she moves up to my thighs, her palms searing my skin.

A flood of air rushes into my lungs, and my legs jerk as she runs her hand over the outside of my knickers. "Jesus Christ, Naomi," she moans when she feels the moisture between my legs. She shuts her eyes tightly and bites her lip against whatever's happening to her own body, and she's quick to rid me of the last of my clothing.

"Why are you shaking?" she whispers in my ear before kissing my earlobe, and I wonder how she got up here.

I try to speak, but my voice comes out as nothing more than a croak. I swallow hard, trying to make enough room for words to wriggle through, but it doesn't help. She takes my hand and nods once, offering a small understanding smile. "It's okay," she says, and then she's gone again, lost to worlds unknown.

That is, until I feel her tongue press below my naval. I can feel my muscles tighten in anticipation, and I try not to squirm as she licks a trail lower, but I can't help the jerk that wracks my body at the first touch of her tongue between my outer lips. Lower and lower she goes, separating the wet folds of my skin until she comes in contact with my clit, and I feel like I might burn up from the inside. She groans against my flesh as my fingers find her head, pushing slightly against the nape of her neck. She opens her mouth against me, and slides her tongue down my clit, curling her tongue around it, sucking gently, and my eyes roll into the back of my head.

I start to move against her, my body acting of its own accord, pushing against her, and then pulling back, dragging my clit further down her tongue, and resisting to the vacuum of her mouth, and I feel the beginnings of something building in the pit of my stomach. She moves her hands to my hips, pressing down and pinning my pelvis to the bed, and that's when she starts to suck harder. She sucks, and pulls her tongue across my clit, mimicking my earlier actions, and my lips are sucked into my mouth, and my eyes shut tightly. I think I can feel my head turning from side to side, but I'm far too focused on what Emily's doing to me to be sure of anything. I do know that my vocabulary has been reduced to "Oh, fuck," and "Emily." I also know that my hand has made a fist in her hair, and I should probably let go because she might be in pain. I can't seem to make my hand cooperate, though, and it actually clenches tighter as my body stiffens, my back bows, and Emily's name gets ripped from my lips to echo throughout the apartment.

Jesus Christ, I've never had an orgasm in my life.

*****

The first thing I'm aware of is that it's quickly getting dark outside. Was it getting dark outside before? I can't remember. It could have been. The next thing I can identify is the star pattern on the wall, and I wonder why they look so far away. Oh, wait. There we go. Sense of touch has just returned. Fingers are running through my hair, over and over. That feels nice. I turn my head to look at the person lying next to me, and the movement seems to kick start the rest of my body, and I start to remember that I have arms and legs.

"Welcome back," Emily says, smiling warmly down at me. She leans down to kiss me, and it's over way too quickly. "Have a nice trip?"

I groan, mostly just to test out the strength of my own voice, and cover my face with my hands. "Oh, my God," I mumble into them, and I think they might be the only three words I know.

She pries my hands away from my face almost as soon as I put them there, and the glint behind her eyes is familiar, though I don't remember exactly when I've seen it before. "Should I take that to mean 'good?'" she asks, eyebrow raised and amused smirk in place.

I look away from her and up at the stars on the ceiling, and I open my mouth to speak, but yet again, nothing comes out. It's a different kind of silence, though. It's not because I can't sort out my own thoughts, or that I don't know where to start, but rather because there aren't words in existence that could possibly describe what I just experienced.

I wonder if I can do the same to her.

"Are you okay?" she asks me, and I guess I must have spaced, because it startles me. I turn my head to look at her and smile. My eyes take in the definition of her jaw line, and travel down the length of her neck. You could see all the right angles of her bone structure; her collar bone, and shoulder blades. I can feel my tongue poke out from between my lips as I let my eyes travel even further down to absorb the sight of her breasts. They look fuller than I had expected them to be, and without really thinking about it, I reach my hand out to touch them, marveling at the way her nipple hardens and crinkles under my finger.

Her breathing depends, and when I look at her, she's got her head bent low, her eyes shut, and her face is flushed. "Naomi," she starts, but I let her words fall on my own tongue and swallow them as I lean forward and kiss her. I reposition my hand so that I'm cupping her breast, and a little sort of whimper comes into my mouth. I knead a little bit, and slide my tongue against her teeth, and this earns me the kind of sound I want to fall asleep to.

She pulls our lips apart and tilts her head back, and I'm more than happy to explore the expanse of her neck, and I find my mouth attaching itself to her pulse point without my knowledge. Her breathing has already gotten labored, and it excites me on some primal level. "You don't have to do this," she says between pants, and I don't have time to be offended, because I'm too busy unfastening her belt. She grabs hold of my hand, keeping me from popping open the button on her pants, and I look up at her, confused. "I can wait until you're ready."

I don't react for a minute, trying to process what she just said to me, and I decide I really don't like it. Excuse me, isn't she aware that I am going to explode if I don't touch her right now? I lean forward; taking her face in both hands and kiss her until she feels it, rolling her onto her back, and lying halfway on top of her. Her arms are around my neck, and my fingers explore her torso, memorizing the tremors that happen when I apply just the right amount of pressure in that one perfect spot. I'm trying to keep from racing to where I want to be, but I can't keep from tugging down her zipper for long.

I move down her body, and hook my fingers under the waist of both her pants and her knickers, and practically rip them both off as I sled them down her legs. I think she starts to say something about me being eager, but it's quickly lost in the cavern of my mouth, and her tongue dances with mine as I explore the roof of her mouth. She's not expecting it when my hand moves between her legs, and she moans deeply into my mouth. Not that you can actually hear it over my guttural groan that comes from me when I feel just how warm, and wet she actually is.

She grinds herself slowly against my finger, dragging her clit across my digit. "There," she moans, and I follow her lead, massaging the small ball of nerves, and it's not long before she's rocking her hips against my hand. I can't take my eyes off of her face as she travels to places I can't follow, and I love the way her eyes screw shut when I move at just the right angle. Her jaw loosens as I slide my fingers lower, pushing my way through her folds, and I gasp as an impossible warmth engulfs my finger, and I have to bury my face in the crook of her neck.

"More," she says, and it takes me a minute to figure out what she means, but as she grinds hard and slow against me, I understand. I slide a second finger inside of her, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I can feel something come to life inside of me, and it feels as though my entire body's humming, like some sort of machine. Her hand flies to my wrist, and I worry for a moment that she's going to push me away, but she just holds me closer, bumping her clit against my palm. I feel her arch under me, and her nails dig into my shoulders, before she finally goes limp and lies still, her breathing slowly returning to normal.

I pull my hand away from her slowly, and wipe it clean on the sheet before wrapping my arms around her, and smoothing her hair away from her forehead. I kiss her gently; on her shoulder, on her cheek, until she comes back down and opens her eyes a few minutes later.

We don't say anything. We don't do anything. I think we might both be afraid of tomorrow. Finally, she takes one of my hands and kisses my palm before pulling it around her waist and burrowing into my chest, and it's not long before we're both asleep.


	18. 17: You Climbed China's Wall

**Author's Notes**

_Shorter chapter again. Sorry for the delay. Between classes starting again, homework, and this girl I just met, I haven't had a whole lot of free time with which to write, and I figured you wouldn't want me to sacrifice quality for speed. Going out of town for the weekend, so I won't be able to get anything done for the next two days. Sorry._

_I meant to mention this in the author's notes for last chapter, but I've put up new links in the profile, so that you can follow me via your favorite social networking site. Some of them get more personal than others, and one of them is strictly a writing blog, so have a look around and take your pick. You'll be able to keep up with what I'm writing, and what's inspiring me. Could offer some insight._

_Special Request: Please, please, please, don't be offended by what I'm about to say. This actually doesn't go for most of you, but I've gotten a few "reviews" that disturb me. If you're going to "review" my story with only "update soon," to say to me, please don't bother. It does not motivate me to update any sooner, and actually makes me feel like a monkey in a circus; one that wants to rebel against its captors, and I might just withhold in defiance. I'm glad you like my writing and everything, but I don't do it for you, and I owe you nothing. Saying only "update soon" is awfully offensive._

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 17: You Climbed China's Wall**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

My body wakes up before my mind does, and when I stretch across an empty bed, my head immediately questions why. I sit up, looking around the room, and noticing the mid-morning light coming in through the window. My brow furrows, because this isn't how I imagined I'd be waking up. I try to suppress the panic that comes with the thought that she might have taken off again, but it doesn't really work.

It smells like there's something cooking and without even bothering to put on clothes, I throw the blankets off of me and pad my way out into the living room, and the morning is ten times better when I see Emily standing over the stove. She's got her back to me, so when I ask "Why aren't you in bed with me?" she jumps.

She turns, and there's already a small smile on her lips that grows when she sees my state of undress, but she recovers quickly. "Because I'm making breakfast that I can then bring back to be to you," she explains.

I smile and make my way over to her, sliding my thumbs through her belt loops. "But why do you have clothes on?" I ask, giving her my best pouty face, but she only laughs.

"Because it's not entirely safe or hygienic to cook in the nude," she says, playfully pushing me away and turning her attention back to her breakfast project. "Besides, you had so much fun taking them off last night that I thought I'd give you the opportunity to do it again," she adds, offhandedly.

I'm struck with the realization that this is simple and easy, and not unpleasant in the least, and I wonder how that can be, since I spent so long avoiding it. "I didn't know you could cook," I say, smiling at her teasing, but not actually needing to comment on it, and I move to the other side of the bar.

She makes a kind of disapproving sound in the back of her throat, and turns off the burner, sliding whatever was sizzling in the pan onto a large plate. "I can't, not really," she says, grabbing two forks out of a drawer. "My culinary skills begin and end with the omelet," she explains, producing a massive one and setting it down on the bar between us. It's even veggie. Sweet.

"We might be in trouble, then," I say, grabbing one of the forks, and taking a bite out of my side. "I can't cook either," I explain, shrugging. It's not until I think about what I've just said that the implications around it settle in, and a quick glance at Emily tells me she caught it, too, though she doesn't say anything.

I can feel her eyes rake over my body, and the feeling's confirmed when I see the look on her face. "Are you going to get dressed today?" she asks, smiling, and I think she might just be trying to get us past that awkward moment.

"I hadn't really planned on it," I say, shrugging, and sounding truly nonchalant. It only lasts for a second, though, before I have to look up at her and let a smile creep across my face.

She sighs slowly and stares at me, not even trying to hide it, and I have to work to maintain eye contact, because it's starting to get really intense. Emily can be really intimidating without even really meaning to. "I hate it," she says finally, mostly to herself, but I hear it anyway, and I'm immediately swallowed in a bubble of doom.

"What do you hate?" I ask, trying to sound merely mildly curious, rather than utterly terrified, and I mostly succeed.

"That I can't stay mad at you," she clarifies, setting her hand on the counter and propping herself against her arm, looking down.

I have no idea how to respond to that, or even how I feel about it. I mean, I guess I should be glad about it on a certain level, but on a deeper one, I feel kind of sick. People should be allowed to feel what they want to feel for as long as they want to feel it, otherwise, they'll never come to terms with these feelings, and won't know what to do with them with they finally catch up.

Trust me, I learned the hard way.

"I'm afraid you'll use it against me," she says, but it's almost a whisper. It's a wonder I hear her at all, and I wonder why she said it in the first place, because I'm fairly certain she didn't actually want me to hear it.

I sigh, slowly and evenly, because I'm starting to see the mess I've made and I don't know how to start cleaning it up. "Maybe we should have that talk," I say after a few minutes of silence.

"What talk?" she asks, looking up at me, her voice not quite returning to normal.

I pull one side of my mouth up into a half-smirk. "You know, the one where we process this change in our relationship, and figure out our next step," I explain, and she nods. "Let me just go put some clothes on." I can see her nod slightly as I turn and make my way to the bedroom.

It seems that I always know what to say until it's time to actually say it, because as I'm putting on my clothes and trying to prepare a heartfelt speech, I'm coming up empty. How can I make up for this; the time wasted, and the complexes given? How can I make up for the fact that I've apparently made her just as afraid of me as I am of her? How could I have done that in the first place?

And how do we get past it all?

I take a deep breath and steel myself before going back out into the living room. Emily is sitting on the floor with her back against the pillar, and I set myself down across from her. I decide it's best to just jump in, so without any kind of lead in, I say, "I think you deserve to know that I'm not entirely sure about everything that's going on with me," to which she nods slowly in understanding. "But that doesn't really concern you," I say, and she starts to protest, but I talk over her, something which I make a note not to make a habit of, but might be okay under the given circumstances. "Because I do know that life sucks when you're not in it," I explain, and she listens. "I know there's something here," I say, gesturing between the two of us, "and I would like to explore it. I think I'll go crazy if I don't."

"I want to be with you, Naomi. I think you know that," she says, and I not. It's hardly a secret. "But why don't we ease into things?" she suggests, and I find myself nodding more vigorously. "Just," she starts, and bites her lip, looking down before looking back at me. "You have to relax. You have to let whatever happens happen, because I can't chase you anymore."

Fair enough. I'm sure I don't even deserve the chance I'm getting, and she's still willing to not push me into anything. Girl must have the patience of a saint. There's no other explanation for it.

She stands up, and I guess the matter's settled, even though I don't exactly know what we are, but I guess that might be the point. She flounces off to the bedroom, and a few seconds later, I hear her yell, "Now, let's figure out what to do with your things."

I feel my eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, even though there's no one around to see it, and quickly get to my feet. "I thought I'd take it home today," I explain, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe.

She looks at me contemplatively for a few minutes, head cocked to the side and all. "You're already moved in here, right?" she asks, and I nod. "Well," she says, slowly, making her way over to me. "You're going to be spending most of your time over the next month or so over here, anyway, you might as well stay for a while."

I want to smile, because I like how she very pointedly did not ask me to move in with her, but I fight it because I don't want to give her the wrong idea. "Why will I be spending most of my time here?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and mostly succeeding at sounding serious.

She grins and bites her lip before kissing me quickly on the lips. "Because girls are never done having sex," she mumbles, her voice low, and the last coherent thought I have is about how I shouldn't have bothered getting dressed at all.

*****

There is an incessant banging on the door, and it is seriously interfering with my sleep. I hear Emily groan, and feel her shift next to me. "Fuck," she mumbles, rolling off the mattress onto all fours, before clumsily standing up.

"Stay here," I grumble, lazily reaching for her as she reaches for a shirt. "They'll go away," I try to reason as she slides my shirt over her head. Great. I'll have to waste time taking that off later.

The knocking continues, and she huffs as she finds a pair of shorts and slides them up her legs. "I really don't think they will," she explains unhappily as the knocking gets louder and more urgent. She kisses me once, and then she's out of the room. "Alright, I'm coming, shut the fuck up," she yells to whoever's on the other side of the door.

The banging stops, and there are a few seconds of silence, before I hear the front door open. "Emily!" I can hear Shane yell, and I can imagine him engulfing her in a hug.

"Fuck," I repeat Emily's earlier sentiment and pass my hand over my face. I should get dressed. This probably isn't going to be a quick visit. I force myself up and out of bed and begin the legendary quest for clothes. It's been so long since I've worn any, that I've almost forgotten what they are entirely.

"No one's heard from you since you left a few days ago," I can hear Shane explain from the living room. "And your phone goes straight to voicemail. We were worried."

A few days? Emily just got back… I think. I finish pulling on some pajama pants, and find my phone, quickly turning it on Sure enough, it tells me it's 8:30pm on a Monday night. Last time I checked, it was Friday. Where did my days go? Shit, I missed class. I think about what I was doing during that time, and I can't help but smile at the memory of Emily on the counter.

"Yeah, well I've been busy," Emily counters, and I can just imagine her stuffing her hands in her pockets. Well, if she had any. She must be going insane, not having anything to do with her hands. I decide to save her, and step out into the living room, realizing that AJ and Bryan are here, too.

"Naomi!" AJ exclaims when he sees me, making his way over to me and throwing his arm around my shoulders. I tense, but otherwise don't react. No point in causing a scene. "How have you been?" he asks, and I notice he's devoid of his trademark gross smirk.

Huh.

"Hi, AJ," I say, plastering on a too obviously patient smile. I don't want to be in this situation.

I notice Bryan arch an eyebrow at Emily, and stare at her pointedly as he sees me, but Emily simply arches her own eyebrow in defiance, and he shrugs and throws his hands up in surrender, and I'm amazed, amused, jealous, and a little bit scared that they can communicate that way.

Could she even do that with Katie?

Shane looks between me and Emily, even though we're on completely opposite sides of the room. He crosses his arms out in front of him and points to each of us. "I think you guys might be wearing each other's clothes," he observes, putting his arms down and looking at me. "I mean, I know that's Emily's shirt," he tells me before looking at Emily. "I've never seen that one before. I guess it could be new," he reasons, cupping his chin and looking thoughtful.

"Yeah, well, I was in a hurry to get dressed. Someone refused to stop rapping at my chamber door," Emily snarks, and again I remember that she's Katie's sister. It's so easy to forget, sometimes.

AJ moves his arm from around my neck and walks over to Emily, jabbing her playfully in the side. "And why were you undressed in the first place?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Because we've been fucking like bunnies," I say, crossing my arms, and somehow managing to keep a straight face. I'm not sure why I said it. I guess I just wanted to go ahead and get it out there, so that we can get the teasing portion of this conversation over, and the room goes silent.

Shane's the first one to start laughing, followed by Emily and AJ. Bryan just looks down, but it looks like he might be trying to stifle a chuckle. "Congratulations," Shane says, coming over to me and shaking my hand, clapping me on the shoulder as though I've just won a prize.

I guess maybe I have.

"So you two finally got together?" AJ asks, looking at Emily.

She looks sideways towards me for a second before she answers. "Not exactly," she mumbles, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "We're still working a few things out," she explains.

"Well, that's a step in the right direction," Shane says, raising his arm as though he's toasting, though he's not holding anything, and I can't help but laugh at how happy he seems. Especially considering his feelings for Emily. Poor guy.

"Well, that's cause for celebration," Bryan speaks for the first time. He's been leaned up against a small table that Emily uses to drop her keys and mail on when she walks through the door. It's more of a night stand, really, and he reaches behind his back and produces a cigar box from seemingly nowhere. He opens it and pulls out one of the longest joints I've ever seen, holding it between his thumb and index finger and presenting it to Emily, like a child bringing home an art project.

I watch as she takes it from him, and wraps her lips around the end, loving the way she pulls them in towards her teeth so as not to get it wet. He hands her a lighter, and she fires it up, catching the tip on fire, blowing smoke out of her nostrils to extinguish it. She inhales deeply, the ember glowing bright orange and creeping ever slowly towards her mouth.

Emily watching is a new hobby of me.

She walks over to me, passing me the spliff and gently blowing smoke in my face. I think I can feel a head change, and it's not from the THC. Without a word, I take my own hit and pass it on to Shane, noticing Emily smile at me as I do so.

Maybe there's room for me in this part of her life, after all.


	19. 18: Almost Decorated

**Author's Notes**

_Okay, I seem to have a thing with shorter chapters these days. I'm sure they'll pick back up soon. We're in the last stretch of this fic, now, though I'm not sure just how many chapters are left. Ballpark figure, maybe around five. Could be less._

_Though, I'm getting really excited and geared up for Octahedron. It'll be great._

_Warnings: fluff (because everyone deserves to be happy for a little while, right?), clunky dialogue shifts masked as characterization, Emily exploration_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 18: Almost Decorated**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

Getting to know Emily is turning out to be an adventure I'm more than happy to take. It seems that I'm finding out something small, and commonplace, and absolutely breathtaking about her every day. I got to class only to will the time away until I can be with her again. I never thought I would be this wrapped up in anything, let alone another human being, but all I have to do is think about the quirky way she talks out of the side of her mouth, and I turn into the schoolgirl I never got to be.

As the days go on, my trepidation eases away, and I wonder not for the first time why I ran from this for so long. Sure, there are times when I feel like I'm falling, but it's more exhilarating than anything.

Still, I've got to land some time, and I've been doing nothing but picking up speed. I can't imagine the landing will be painless, regardless of where that might be; whether she catches me or not.

I'm lying in the middle of the living room, thinking about the nature of our relationship when she steps out of the bedroom, waving a book in the air. "Katie told me she couldn't find this," she says, a playfully curious expression gracing her features, and I find myself smiling in response to her good mood. It doesn't take much these days. "But I found it right where it always is," she elaborates, coming to stand next to me and nudge me in the side with her toe. "So how can that be?" she asks, tilting her head and pretending to look thoughtful.

My smile widens and I bite my lip, quickly reaching up to grab her wrist and pull her down on top of me. She lands clumsily across my torso, and takes a moment to reposition herself so that she's lying on her side with her shoulder and arm across my tummy, with her head propped against her hand. "I was kind of reading it," I explain haltingly from between my teeth, looking at everything but her when I see she's talking about Gonzo.

She chuckles through her nose, and buries her face in my shirt, and a small warm wave comes over me. She still thinks it's funny that I lived here in her absence. Looking back on it, it kind of is. "You don't say?" she asks as she looks back up at me, and I push us up as I bend towards her and kiss her.

This is getting easier to do, being open like this. For a while, I let her initiate everything. I was still unsure of myself, of where the line was, or even who it belonged to. I guess I still am, but I told her I'd try to let myself go with the flow, and that's what I'm going to do. So, now when I want to kiss her, I just do, and they never get boring.

"How'd you like it?" she asks curiously when we pull away from each other and settle back down to our original positions.

"I thought it was fantastic," I say, shive3ring as she starts to trace intricate patterns along my ribcage. "Like how he used to type out his favorite books just to see how it felt to write them."

She smiles warmly and extends her arm towards the floor, laying her head down on it, and my hand moves to hers, tracing the lines of her palm with my fingertips. "Yeah, it's a pretty good book," she says, her eyes looking at something far away. "Katie got it for me a few years ago, back when I thought I wanted to be a journalist," she explains with a wave of her hand.

I smile at the mental image of Emily working for some underground music magazine, interviewing kids with wildly colored hair, leading the next musical revolution. Or maybe a vicious truth seeker for a huge publication that starts to collect restraining orders as her career grows. "I never knew that," I say, fingering the ends of her hair. "But you don't anymore?" I ask, an eyebrow rising.

She shrugs and sighs lazily. "I guess I still do," she says, shifting to her back and using my abdomen as a pillow. "I just want to do other things, too. I feel like I can do anything, and I can't pick just one."

I move my hand down to her stomach, and slide it under the hem of her shirt, stroking her skin, and smiling at the shudder it elicits. "So, why don't you try them all out?" I suggest, inching my fingers higher, and I can feel her breathing slow and deepen.

"Not enough hours in the day," she says dreamily, closing her eyes and raising a hand to slide across my waist, and I can feel the want in her touch. This is a skill neither of us knew we possessed; with nothing more than a few well placed touches, either one of us can turn the other into an incoherent mass of nerves. Her fingers find my skin, and her nails rake across the place where my jeans and shirt meet, and I want her so much that the conversation is quickly forgotten.

*****

"We seriously need to get a table," I grumble, running an agitated hand through my hair. I'm currently hunched over the bar, trying to read this chapter for school, and both my back and legs are killing me. I already moved from the floor, where my shoulders and arms caused me so much discomfort that I had to get up. I don't know what I can try next.

"Maybe we can get Shane to take us thrift store hopping this weekend," she suggests, brushing her hand across my hip as she moves past me to the refrigerator, opening it and pouring herself a small glass of orange juice.

I look up at her and arch an eyebrow. I hadn't noticed my own use of the word "we" but when she said it, it sounded remarkably loud.

"What?" she asks, swallowing and throwing her arms out, looking at me as though I might eat her face off. Then again, I just might. "We need a table," she says, shrugging and taking another sip of her orange juice.

Well, technically, I need a table, and she could get by just fine without one, but that's not the point. I swallow whatever absolutely ridiculous thing might be coming, and look back down at the book. My insanity will pass if I ignore it long enough.

As if sensing the impending doom, she comes and stands close to me, her body half covering mine, and she bends her head around me to get a better look at the text. "What are you working on, then?" she asks, her tone light, and I can already feel myself relax.

"Mm, politics," I say, and she grins and rolls her eyes, backing away from me. She never was too keen on the subject, though she listens with apparent interest every time I go on one of my rants. It's hard to tell if she's just humoring me, or if she just prefers the way I talk about it. I have a tendency to get riled up.

"I want to go back to school," she says offhandedly and making her way to the living room side of the bar.

"So why don't you?" I ask, not looking up from my work.

I can see her elbows come to ret on the counter, and I know she's bent over, resting her chin in her hands. "I can't afford it," she mumbles, and this causes me to snap my head up.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my brow furrowing in confusion. "I thought your parents were loaded. Katie sure doesn't look like she's having any problems," I point out, trying and failing horribly to keep the disgust out of my voice, thinking about her fucking car that I know she didn't pay for.

She sighs and lowers her head before moving away from the bar, keeping her back to me. "They are. And she's not," she says, and her voice is hard to read. "It's complicated," she finishes, and I can see her shrug beneath the fabric of her over sized t-shirt.

Okay, I have to admit, I don't know what my next move is supposed to be here. I'm curious. I really am, because I think this might have a lot to do with who she is, and I find myself craving that kind of knowledge these days, and asking might earn me bonus points. Then again, her body language doesn't exactly scream "Open!" and I'm afraid of inadvertently pushing her away by trying to pull her closer. It's a difficult decision, and one I have to make very quickly or the moment will pass, and then it won't matter anymore. "Tell me about it," I say gently, hesitatingly, and close my book silently. I make no move toward her, though, afraid of crossing a line.

She doesn't move for a minute, then rolls her head and turns to face me, and her face is light. "I guess it's not that complicated," she says with a slight smile, and I don't think I've ever been more impressed by anything in my life. "It came down to living by Mum's rules, or living on my own," she says, hooking a thumb into the front pocket of her slacks and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Obviously, I chose the latter," she finishes, gesturing around us.

"So they don't help you at all?" I ask for clarification purposes, and she shakes her head. "And Katie's cool with that?" I ask, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. Emily hates it when I talk badly of her sister, but it's a habit that's proving rather difficult to break.

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head vigorously. "No, she hates it just as much as I do," she says quickly, realizing that I had come to the wrong conclusion, though she should have known I would have. "She even offered to move out with me," she explains, taking a step towards me. "I just wouldn't let her."

Okay, I'm confused again, because now I'm pretty sure the two of them get along, and I can't imagine why Emily would deny herself the help of her sister. "Why not?" I ask.

A small, sad smile creeps across her face, and her eyes focus on something very far away before she speaks. "I saw no reason we should both suffer over something nobody has control over," she says, and I feel a strange sort of tightening in my chest. "I've had to talk her out of leaving countless times since I did," she muses, mostly to herself, and her smile grows into one of amusement.

I suddenly have much more respect for Katie Fitch than I ever thought possible.

Something's still not quite adding up though. "So then why does she still make homophobic remarks from time to time?" I ask, thinking about that time in the pub a while back. When was that? Two and a half, three months? Something around there.

At this, she actually smiles and makes her way over to me, though the bar still separates us. "If you pay attention, they're not actually homophobic," she explains. "They're just severely anti-Naomi. I don't know if you've noticed, but she fucking hates you."

"That fact hadn't managed to escape my observation," I deadpan, eyebrow arched.

Her smile lessens but doesn't fade and she tilts her head slightly. "We would have absolutely nothing to fight about if you weren't around," she explains, and I fight the urge to flip her off. "Besides," she says, pushing away from the bar, her tone completely different. "My degree would be absolutely useless, anyway."

It takes my mind a minute to jump tracks, and remember what she's talking about. This is something I find absolutely wonderful about Emily. I can never just go into a mental coma, because she's always switching moods and topics so frequently that I have to pay attention. It's fun, watching her thoughts run away with her, and it's even more interesting to join in the adventure. "How can any degree be useless?" I ask, skeptical.

She raises a finger into the air, level with her face and grins devilishly at me. "By being one in Philosophy," she explains simply, and I have to admit she's got a point. No one gets paid to sit around and ponder, anymore.

"Philosophy?" I repeat, the scoff escaping before I can even register its existence.

She just laughs good-naturedly and runs her hand through her hair, though. "Yeah, see? Completely worthless," she reiterates, and shrugs. "I just think that a strong base in philosophy is the first step to being truly successful in anything. The world would be a better place if everyone studied philosophy."

This is the first time I've ever heard Emily talk like this, and the effect is intoxicating. She reminds me a bit of myself, or maybe the version of me that she sees. "Why is that?" I ask, smiling warmly.

"Essentially, a philosopher defines life," she explains, and I nod. "If we all had a definition, even if they differed; if we all had a purpose, I think it would eliminate a lot of the chaos in the world," she says, and her eyes glaze over at some idealistic vision. "People wouldn't be so lost…"

I make my way around the bar and over to her, sliding my arms loosely around her waist. She smiles at me, coming back from wherever she went to. "But religion, and war, and natural disasters are still out there, I point out as gently as I can.

"Well of course," she says, smiling and grasping my arm. "But if you know how the world is supposed to work, if you know what you want from it, it's easier to traverse it," she explains, and it makes a lot of sense. "It would ease a lot of the everyday madness created by people searching blindly for something to give their life meaning."

I can't help it. I kiss her, running my fingers across her cheek. "I think I'm going to tell my mum," I say after slowly breaking the kiss.

There's a tiny twinkle in her eye, but she's quick to extinguish it, and I hate that she's afraid to get her hopes up with me. "Tell you mum what?" she asks, feigning confusion rather well.

"About my fantastic girlfriend, of course," I say, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. I guess it kind of is, and as much as it scares me, I'm beginning to realize that I'm more afraid of not having her in my life. She looks sideways and bites her lip, so I continue. "We're together, Emily," I explain, and she meets my eye again. "We have been for a while. I just didn't want to admit it," I finish with a lame shrug, and her smile is radiant.

*****

My mother, as it turns out, doesn't give a shit.


	20. 19: A Feather Becomes a Blade

**Author's Notes**

_Okay, I know it's been a ridiculously long hiatus, but let me break it down for you. First there was class. That I could juggle with writing. But then came the girl, and I got a little preoccupied, who then became the girlfriend, so I stayed that way. Then there was my sister's wedding to deal with, and a move across town directly after. I really have been too busy to update. Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me, and I'm sorry for worrying you and making you wait so long. But there's no way I could forget about this project, and I still have plans for Octahedron in my head. I'm not sure how many more chapters are in this one. I know it'll be one or two. I know where I want it to go; I just don't know exactly how many steps it's going to take me to get there. I start school again at the end of the month, and like last semester, you probably won't see an update while class is going on._

_Warnings: clunky dialogue that should have been discussed last chapter but was forgotten about, the end of happy!Naomily, what you all thought I forgot about_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 19: A Feather Becomes a Blade**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

"Look, you're a lesbian, I know you know how to do this," Shane tells Emily with a teasing smile on his face, trying to place her fingers on the neck of her guitar. "You have to curl your fingers more."

"Wrong hand," I point out with a raised eyebrow, and I feel the corners of my mouth quickly following. For some reason, Emily flips me off instead of Shane as I pass the spliff I've just hit to Bryan.

"Wow, Ems, you're fucked," Bryan says with a big, goofy grin on his face before taking a long drag on the joint. "Why don't you just stick to vocals?" he asks, passing the spliff to AJ, his voice tight. For a while, it felt like he would stay deliberately silent in my presence, but he's started talking more. He can be rather entertaining, in an off-beat kind of way.

"Because if I only stuck to what I know, my life would be really fucking boring, wouldn't it?" she asks with false anger, and he offers a hand in concession.

Honestly, she's not that bad; she's actually pretty decent, it's just fun to tease her. Apparently, she's been taking lessons from Shane for a while, though I'm not sure in exchange for what. She's been getting better in the few weeks I've been here, and I imagine she had come a long way before that.

She leans the guitar against the wall she's propped against and takes the spliff from AJ. "We need a gig, or a party, or something," she tells Shane, sipping several times on the joint. "I still don't have rent for next month," she explains, and I perk up.

I hadn't thought about it before, but it dawned on me that I've never heard about her going to a steady job of any kind, and I knew her family wasn't helping her out. I had seen her make rent from a gig before, but it was my understanding that those were few and far between. "How much do you need, Ems?" I ask. "I can help out," I offer, because it's only fair, but Bryan waves me away.

"I've been craving a good old pasture rave, lately," he says, looking at Emily, and she nods, looking thoughtful.

"We'll need some kind of electric generator, but I think I know a place," she says a few minutes later, and I'm trying to figure out when the spliff got back to me.

If Shane had been wearing glasses, he would have looked over them at AJ, but he isn't, so he just mimics the action. "Is that possible?" he asks him, and AJ just waves him off, which I guess means it is.

AJ wasn't lying when he said he didn't know Emily very well. He doesn't come around nearly as often as Bryan or Shane do, and he feels closer to the edge of the group as a whole than anything else.

I get a restless kind of vibe from him.

"How have you been making re3nt?" I ask Emily pointedly, but cautiously. I want to get an answer, because I didn't get one the last time I asked a question, but it seems strange to me that I didn't ask before now. I never really thought about it.

She arches an eyebrow and smiles patiently at me. "You know we charge admission to those parties, right?" she asks, and I feel somewhat dumbstruck. I guess it makes sense, since I'm sure all the drugs and decorations had to get paid for somehow. I just had no idea people paid to get into them, I guess because I never had to.

"Yeah, that acid party did pretty well," Bryan says, stubbing out the roach, "even if we didn't make as much as we could have."

"Wait, so just the four of you have thrown these amazing parties?" I ask, sitting up straighter and raising a hand into the air, looking between them. It seemed far too incredible that they put together what they did by themselves.

"You can accomplish anything if you put forth the effort," Shane says, and I reflect on that silently for a moment. It's one of those adages that you hear from birth and never take seriously, or think about. I can imagine the four of them, with varying strengths and weaknesses, as is typical of the human race, coming together in separate fields to pull off incredible feats.

So, maybe he's right, in a roundabout kind of way.

"By the way," he says, putting his hands together contemplatively, turning towards me. "I finally went back and inspected the art room in the church," he explains, the corners of his mouth curling upwards, and his eyes narrowing, as though attempting to see some kind of secret that even I don't know. He points his hands in my direction, and asks slyly, "Was the enchanted pastel forest your creation?"

I'm taken aback and glance quickly at Emily, a habit I've somehow managed to form, despite several mental battles with myself, and her eyes widen and start to shine, and a genuine smile tugs at the corners of her lips. I stutter a few times, trying to answer his question. It's just that the question seemed to come out of nowhere, and I'm stoned, so it takes me a minute to remember what he's talking about. I don't even remember clearly just what I did on that wall, anymore. Emily responds before I get to answer, though. "That's kind of what I thought about it, too. I just couldn't come up with the right words," she explains, and it's fun to watch her get wrapped up in things when she's high.

He looks over at her, and nods emphatically, the two of them obviously feeding each other happiness with their mutual admiration. "Yeah, I guess," I say, because I know that I used pastels that night. I do not, however, remember any kind of enchanted forest. It was a doodle at best.

"Where'd that come from?" he asks, turning back to me, and it feels like that's the only knowledge he cares about having for the rest of his life.

I shrug, having absolutely no idea how to respond to him. It didn't come from anywhere; I was fucked up and the pastels amused me.

"Okay, then where did you go?" he tries from another direction. I guess my face must show my confusion, because he tilts he head conspiratorially, and explains. "There was a large area covered, and a lot of blending. That took some time, and you didn't take a break. That indicates that you got drawn into whatever you were doing. Where did you go?"

I can feel my face tighten as I try to bring up what I was feeling in that moment, but I can't seem to find the right levels of thoughts. The images and thoughts I'm getting now are perverted versions of their original selves, and it just doesn't feel right. I shake my head in an attempt to clear it and start over, and Shane grins, leaning to his left to grab his messenger bag, and makes his way over to my side.

He pulls a worn sketchbook out of his bag and turns it to a blank page, plopping it down in my lap, followed by a bag full of crayons. "Not exactly pastels, but they'll do on the spot," he says with a sheepish grin, and he refuses to acknowledge my 'you're crazy' face.

He moves back to Emily's side across the room, and I suddenly feel isolated somehow, though the feeling's not uncomfortable or negative. Because they're there, and because I'm high, and because I have nothing else to do, I start to fish random crayons out of the bag and experiment with various color shades and combinations. It's hard, though, because the wax just doesn't work the same way, and the colors don't seem s enthralling.

Perhaps this is strictly and LSD activity.

But I try, and I move the colors across the page in random arcs and swirls, and it's nothing like what I'm sure Shane imagines it to be, and before I know it, the four of them are getting up and exchanging goodbye hugs. I close the sketchbook and try to gather up all of Shane's things to return them to him, but he puts a hand up to stop me. "Hang onto those for a while," he says with a lopsided grin. "Play around. Have some fun."

If only he'd realize that I really don't think my future is in the arts. At least he means well.

I watch as Emily closes the door behind Bryan, the last of the boys over the threshold, before coming over to me and glancing at the sketchpad. "You really do have an interesting sense of color," she almost mumbles, her eyes skimming over the page, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "I mean, I know there's no shape here, but just the color makes it cool to look at," she explains.

"Oh, please, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing," I say, tossing the pad a few feet away from me, and moving to stand in front of her.

She cocks her head and her hair falls across her face. "That's what makes it even better. You're not bound by rules of artists set before you," she says with a smile before leaning forward to bring our lips together.

The conversation is quickly forgotten.

* * *

I never heard mention about the party again, and I didn't bother asking because I got the sense that I wasn't welcome to. It seemed like something that Emily didn't want me to be a part of, and I respected that. After all, she initially didn't want me to know about the group of them in the first place, simply because she wanted something of her own. I'm more than willing to allow her this since she's obviously decided to let me into that part of her world.

I hadn't heard anything about it, and it actually kind of slipped my mind. Not completely, mind you, it was simply buried under other thoughts of contradictions, such as domestic bliss and the overwhelming urge to run away. I want to be with Emily. I really do. But there's still something that I can't get over; a wall I can't tear down, and the worst part is that I don't know what it is. I just can't seem to quite pull her to me completely.

And I'm afraid she feels it, too.

That's why I was confused for half of the ride with Cook, Effy, and Emily out in the middle of nowhere in Shane's van. Emily just kept giving me these strange looks, as though I had lost my mind, and refused to say anything. But as I try and fail to make a mental map in my head as we twist our way down a narrow path in the trees, a light bulb goes on and realization finally dawns on me.

It seems like the trees are getting thicker and thicker the further we go until I start to think that we're going to get stuck, and we'll all have to get out and try to push the van back out of this labyrinth, but Cook parks it snuggly between two trees. I glance over at Emily, but she seems more confident than anything else. I open the van door and climb out, looking up into the actual canopy made by the tree branches. I feel like I'm in a forest, and I can't imagine trying to have a party anywhere near here.

I wonder how far we're going to have to walk.

Emily takes off in a seemingly random direction, and I'm quick to follow her, having to bend down to avoid being hit by branches she's too short to notice. Effy files in behind me, dragging Cook along by his wrist.

"Are you sure you know where we are?" I ask as we come to a stop a few minutes later, looking around and seeing nothing but trees. I can hear Effy and Cook shuffling behind me, and they almost run right into me. I can hear the rhythm of their steps disrupt and panic before an abrupt stop.

Emily just glances over her shoulder at me, eyebrow cocked smugly, but I can see a slight offense behind her eye. I've gotten better at reading her, and I really should know better than to underestimate her, by now. She holds her index finger up in the air next to her face before bringing it to rest on her lips, one side of her mouth curled up in a challenging half-smirk, and I know she's telling me to pay attention.

There's this strange center, or wholeness, or connectedness that I had noticed in both Shane and Bryan, and it was starting to rub off on Emily. They all seemed to be aware of everything, all the time. I see them try to sneak up on each other several times a week. It's like a game to them; not menacing in any way, just to see if they can. And I noticed that every time Emily would tell me that one of them was around long before I could see them, her demeanor would change. She would get very still, unless we were walking and her strides would get longer and lighter, and she would stop a conversation mid-sentence to hear something only she could hear.

I mimic her, mostly just to mock in a completely inside joke kind of way, and I can see her eyes laugh with me, even in the darkness. But as the thought leaves my mind, I can feel a very gentle steady beat pulsing through the ground. I drop my smile, and Emily's widens, and she tilts her head as if to say, "Lead the way."

I bite my lip and grin at her, tilting my head in the direction I think the vibrations are coming from, and my smile grows as I catch the approval in her eyes. Without a word, I take off into the trees, my steps purposeful, and I wonder to myself why I think it's so important that I get this right.

I can hear Cook and Effy behind me, but not Emily. I know she's there anyway, tracing my footsteps, as silent as she wants to be. The trees begin to get even thicker, and for just a moment I think about giving up and turning around, because I'm really getting tired of getting hit in the face, and scratched along my neck by reaching branches. I don't, because I know I'll never hear the end of it. Besides, I can feel the vibrations getting harder and harder, and it's become audible.

And just when I think the trees are going to grab me and swallow me whole, I break out into a huge clearing filled with people, and the music is louder than my own thoughts. I turn around to see Emily coming out of the woodwork, followed by Cook and Effy. Emily sidles up to me, and kisses me when she sees my expression. I don't understand how a hole in trees that thick can exist on this scale. In face, it reminds me of some large-scale crop circle.

Her smile is radiant as she pulls away and takes my hand, leading me into the glowing crowd. Everyone's got neon necklaces, and bracelets, and rings, and pacifiers, and it feels like we're walking into a drugged-out, undulating rainbow.

"I'm impressed," I yell, trying to be heard over the music, and I know she can't hear me, because I can't even hear myself. She knows what I mean, though, because her look turns smug. There's a lot to be impr3ssed with. This place is so far off the beaten path that police won't bother to make their way out here, and the surrounding trees are so thick that they muffle most of the sound so they won't have a reason to come out in the first place. This is a part, open for the world to see if it cares to look, and we're not going to get caught.

In true rave fashion, Emily pulls a pair of glow sticks from her never-ending pockets, and I think they're the same blue and red ones from the acid party at the church. Funny, it seems like such a long time ago. She backs away from me and starts to rave, but instead of the pattern being choppy and unbalanced like the last time I saw them, the lights move completely in sync with one another, creating intricate trails that I didn't think was possible for a human to make.

They stop, and I'm pulled out of a trance I wasn't aware I had fallen into. There's a flick of a lighter before smoke and a burning cherry appear inches away from my face. I watch the orange glow move off to my right before my head is forced down and lips are on mine.

I wrap my arms around Emily's waist, pulling her closer to me as she forces my mouth open with her own. My moan is muffled as a rush of air and smoke invades my lungs, and my only option is to inhale as deeply as I can, my head swimming and my arms clinging just a little tighter.

She pulls away again, and takes another hit before placing the spliff between my lips. I lift my face to the sky as I drag deeply on the weed, noticing for the first time that we're far enough out that we can actually see the stars. Maybe it's the scenery, and the music, and the neon, and the drugs, but even though we're surrounded by countless strangers, it feels as though Emily and I are somewhere far, far away from the planet Earth.

"Dance with me," she says without words, and her body starts to move. She's feverish, almost carnal, her hands everywhere at once. My body moves with hers, and I feel our hips lock, her arms snaking around my torso. The music is fast, but controlled, and I can feel something building just below the surface in both of us, and I don't know if we'll ever let it out.

I take another drag and exhale it into the atmosphere, watching it dissipate as the music slows to something almost melancholy. I look down at Emily, catch her eyes in the flashes of our neighbors' jewelry, and I know the shift has affected her somehow. She kisses me once, twice, so long and deeply that I literally feel my head spin.

That is, until a pair of arms practically rips us apart in order to drape themselves around our shoulders. "I'm so happy you guys finally got together," Cook shouts, and somehow, he's loud enough to actually be heard over the bass. He hugs us to his chest, jostling me playfully, and I can tell he's on something.

"Thanks, Cook," Emily says as appreciatively as she can. He doesn't hear that she's simply humoring him, but I do.

"I mean it," he continues as though he didn't hear her, and I suppose it's likely that he didn't. "It wasn't easy for either of you, but you got past it all."

Uh-oh. This sounds like projection of Effy troubles to me. "Are you okay, Cook?" I ask him pointedly.

Again, he pressed on, and by now I know there's no stopping him. It's better to let him finish his rant and watch him stagger off, and try and talk to him tomorrow, because there's just no reaching him. "I mean, I thought the AJ thing was going to kill it forever, but you two are just too strong."

Emily lowers her head from looking up at him and levels her eyes at me. "What AJ thing?" she asks. She's not accusing, her smile is still wide. She's asking me in disbelief, as though she's taking everything Cook says with a grain of salt, and it would be so easy to lie to her.

Except that Emily's question seems to be the only thing Cook's heard, and even in his inebriated state, it reaches him. I watch his face as he realizes what just came out of his mouth, and he visibly sobers, and it looks like it pains him. "Nothing," he says more enthusiastically than can be considered normal, and he quickly takes his leave.

His behavior doesn't go unnoticed, and Emily's face goes through a similar transformation. "What AJ thing?" she repeats, her voice as even and steady as yelling allows, and it sounds practiced.

I sigh and bite my lip. I wouldn't have lied to her in the first place, but this isn't the way she should hear about it. "Not now, okay?" I ask, and I can feel the desperation behind my eyes. I can only hope that she can see it. "Not here."

Her eyes harden, a sure sign that she's angry, and looks around, finally remembering we're not alone. We don't need to hash out our problems in front of other people. It's always been in private, and I don't think either of us wants to start airing our dirty laundry now. She purses her lips and looks back at me, holding my gaze for an infinite moment. She nods shortly and moves past me, and she's easily swallowed by the crowd.

I don't see her again until the long drive home.


	21. 20: Maybe California

**Author's Notes**

_I apologize for where you will all figure out this is going. I have my reasons, and I will go into those in the AN of the epilogue. But please bear with me. Little known fact: I am most productive in Autumn and Winter. And when I'm unhappy, so maybe you'll get more updates, and sooner. I promise nothing, though._

_Warnings: Octahedron foreshadowing, possible invention of a word_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Chapter 20: Maybe California**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

"What AJ thing?" Emily asks as soon as we're in the apartment. They're the first words she's spoken since she left me at the party, and I don't even have time to get the door shut. Her tone sounds calculated, and I get the sense that she made a conscious decision to not be angry until she knew what was going on.

"Ems," I say, closing the door, and my trepidation is evident. When I look up, I find her leaning against the pillar, feet planted and arms crossed, and I realize for the first time that the architectural anomaly represented a kind of crutch for her. Nearly every time we've had a confrontation, she's used it as a support structure.

"What AJ thing?" she repeats, slowly, steadily… heavily, and I know she's losing patience.

I'm at a loss. I feel helpless and pathetic and weak, and it is the exact thing I was always running from when it came to Emily. I never wanted AJ, it was never about him. I wanted to simultaneously run away from Emily, and enter into her world at the same time. By sleeping with AJ, I was grasping at a part of her world that she didn't want me in. But I know that she won't hear any of that. She'll hear that I had sex with AJ; that I betrayed her on multiple levels, and everything will come crashing down. But there's nothing else that I can say, because she's Emily, and she deserves my honesty. So I sigh and release everything in me that might have resembled hope, and tell her, "I slept with AJ."

I stand still, waiting for permission to move, and I watch as she goes through all five stages of grief. I take a tentative step forward and open my mouth to explain the impossible situation, and I should have known it was too much to soon because she holds a hand up to stop me, and I think she would have taken a step back if she could. I don't give in completely, though, because I stay right where I am, instead of taking a step back to resettle the original distance between us.

She composes herself, but only just, and she can't quite meet my eyes when she asks, "When?"

I shrug, because I can't remember exactly when, but she doesn't see it. "Some time before we got together," I say softly, my eyes falling to the floor.

There's silence, and I'm afraid to look up at the reaction. It could be anger, it could be sadness, or it could be broken acceptance. I don't know what to expect, but I know I won't be able to stand it. But as the silence wears on, I know she's waiting for me to look up, as though whatever she has to say is meaningless unless I look at her.

It feels like a test of some kind.

I raise my head, and while I try not to do it in defiance, I'm afraid it comes off that way, because it's become second nature by now. I watch as she licks her lips, her tongue sliding over the top, then the bottom before she curls her lip between her teeth, and it's almost like whatever she's going to say scares her as much as it scares me, and I feel my shoulders slump in resignation.

"Okay," she says, and her voice sounds forced, but strong, and I catch myself flinching in response. I'm not sure what it means, but I know it's not what I had expected.

I look at her for a minute. I can feel myself blink as the word, rather than the sound comes settling into my brain. "What?" I ask, because I need to hear more, but it comes out in a whisper, for fear that what follows is going to be, "We're over."

She shrugs, but it's not the nonchalant kind. It's the kind used when you're not sure of your footing, though you know you have to move. It doesn't suit her. "Okay," she repeats, and I think she's forgotten how to say anything else.

I'm tempted to ask her to repeat herself once again, but I'm afraid we'll spiral into some inappropriate caricature of the situation we're in. So, I wait.

Finally, her chest heaves, and she inhales so deeply that it looks like it hurts her, and she says, "It's okay. It was before we were together."

"What?" I ask again, knowing that I shouldn't, but not knowing what's supposed to take its place. It looks like she would really rather not say it again, but will if she has to. I don't want her to have to.

She does, anyway. "If it happened before we were together, then it doesn't matter. We didn't owe each other anything, and you had no one to explain yourself to."

Then why do I feel so guilty? And why do I want to explain?

Why do I feel like I have to?

"I was scared," I say, disregarding her reaction because we both deserve more. "Things with you were getting confusing, and I – "

"Stop," she says, cutting me off with a raise of her hand. "Don't' tell me,"" she continues, turning her head to the side and looking more scared than I feel. She pushes off from the pillar and moves toward the bedroom. "I don't want to know," she finishes, pausing as she passes me in emphasis, and I know the discussion's finished.

I don't get to make myself feel better.

She hesitates on the threshold of our bedroom, her eyes focused on a spot on the ground, and I know she's trying to make up her mind about something. "Are you coming to bed?" she asks, too quietly, without lifting her gaze.

I nod, and though it seems impossible, it's evident she sees me. I watch as she turns her back to me, and disappears into the room.

I follow slowly, as though marching towards my execution.

* * *

I am aware of my own exertion, feeling my muscles tense under the strain. I have moved beyond the stage of numbness into hypersensitivity.

It brings a strange kind of calmness, this awareness of my own body and its capabilities, even if the circumstances behind it are exactly what I need it for. It's good to know that I can still rely on myself.

When did I forget that?

Things aren't different; not in the least. We wake up together, kiss each other good morning; one of us will cook breakfast while the other one showers. Our days go about our routines, until we finally fall asleep, arms wrapped around each other.

Nothing has changed.

Except for the fact that it has.

There's a tenseness that I can't put my finger on, and it makes me feel like we're just going through the motions. I try to tell myself that it's all in my head, that things are really just as normal as they look, but the longer we go on, the more I feel as though it's not my imagination.

And that's when I started to go numb.

So, I moved, and I haven't really stopped. I'm running, mostly, but in this particular moment I'm lifting, and I'm glad for the change.

"Thanks for the help," I hear Shane say for the millionth time, slightly out of breath. I only half hear him though, as I revel under the strain of my working muscles while I heave a particularly heavy amp into his van.

I shake my head in dismissal, saying, "Not a problem," as though I'd rehearsed it. Truth is, I'm glad to do it, if only because it releases some tension. Still, I'm sad to see him go. He and his band of merry men are an entertaining bunch.

He sits down on the floor of the vehicle, his feet on the ground, and lights a spliff pulled from his pocket. I can't help but grin as he tries to straighten out the small kink in it before handing it to me, muttering to himself.

"Leaving in a few days, then?" I ask him, taking a long drag and passing the joint back to him.

He nods in that stereotypical stoner way, and it just makes him more endearing. He inhales deeply before he speaks, and when he does, puffs of smoke shoot from his mouth. "It's about time to move on," he says, and I can't quite read his face.

"Not really a settler, are you?" I ask, and I think I may have embarked on my first real conversation with Shane.

He shakes his head while hitting the spliff again. "None of us are," he says, gesturing with the reefer between his fingers. "Not really."

I am punched in the face with the implication of his statement.

I push it out of my mind; tell myself I'm just being paranoid, and reach over and take the spliff from him. "Where are you headed?"

"Maybe California," he says, and it seems strange for him to be going back to a country he claims to hate. "Bryan's got some friends there, so it'll be easy to get our feet on the ground."

"You didn't have a safety net when you came over here, did you?" I ask him and offer the spliff in his direction. I was under the impression that they had no home base, and no reason for the traveling, or particular destination.

"Coming to Bristol was a perfect storm," he explains. "Bryan had been living with AJ when I came passing through. I crashed their couch for a while before I became an actual roommate."

"How'd you get here, then?"

"Well, I had managed to fall in love, and then I managed to have my heart broken. At the same time, AJ lost his job, and Bryan couldn't afford rent on his own. We had enough money between us to start an adventure, and nothing tying us to Illinois. We'd heard Bristol was a pretty busy place, and decided it was as good a place to go as any. Now, here we are." He puts the spliff out on the heel of his boot, and tosses the remainder away.

"And now you're off again," I say, rather than ask, and my eyebrow quirks without my telling it to.

"Yeah, well, living in a church really sucks after a while, you know what I mean?" he says with a playful nudge, and I can only laugh in response.

"Glad to see you guys are still hard at work," I hear Emily's voice yelling at us from a distance, and her voice sounds strange in the fact that it doesn't. I look up to see her and Bryan approaching us, refreshments in hand. They had gone on a cig run, but apparently it was time for a break.

Not that Shane and I hadn't been taking one already.

When they reach us, Emily extends a bottle of water to me, and produces a pack of cigarettes from one of her bottomless pockets. I watch as she packs them, letting her wrist do all the work. She's got her hip cocked to the side, and her relaxation seems practiced.

"Hey, there's not much left," Shane defends, taking a swig of water from the bottle Bryan handed to him.

"Not like there was a lot to begin with," I quip, and I'm amazed at my ability to seem perfectly normal.

The whole situation is fucked up.

It doesn't take long before everything is packed, and we're saying our goodbyes. And while I know they're not leaving this second, it feels like they are, and the mood is somber.

Emily is standing off with Bryan, and Shane and I are talking by the van. "I'm going to miss you," I tell him, and I mean it.

He looks touched, and moves to embrace me. "Look at you, being strong," he says encouragingly as we separate, and though I know he sees my expression, he doesn't say anything more.

I don't want to ask him what it means.

But I have to.

"How am I being strong?"

He looks embarrassed, and I have to try to remain composed. "You're taking it like a champ," he says encouragingly. "You and Emily finally connecting, and everything," he continues with a regretful shrug.

Is he saying what I think he is?

I turn in Emily's direction without telling myself to, and I wonder if this act has become instinctual. She's releasing Bryan from a hug and starts to make her way over to us, and I know the conversation is over.

With a look from Emily, I numbly excuse myself, and allow her to have her goodbyes with him. For something to do, I approach Bryan and go through the motions of farewell with him, and I know it's wrong, because he deserves more than that.

And while at first I was sad that AJ wasn't going to be here; that he was off trying to gather as much money as possible, I now think it's a good thing that I don't have to pretend with him, too.

And before I realize what's happening, Emily and I are walking home together. I'm aware of her taking my hand, and not much else.

I don't know what to think.

I have brain damage.

* * *

I am exhausted. My body is spent, and my eyelids are heavy. The trouble is, I just can't close them. My eyes travel over to watch Emily's sleeping form underneath the blanket beside me.

We made love tonight like we haven't for a while. We haven't explored each other in a long time, having already done so thoroughly in the beginning of the relationship. So we explored each other, while at the same time, knowing exactly what to do.

I'm not sure what to make of it.

I carefully climb over her and out of bed, grabbing a cigarette from the pack on the windowsill and move into the living room, not bothering with clothes.

I light my cigarette and stand in the middle of the room, looking at my surroundings. I'm not sure what I thought I would find out here, but I feel better than when I was in bed.

Though, admittedly, that could just be the nicotine.

I'm halfway through my cigarette before I'm aware of her presence. She's standing behind me, and when I turn, I see her as I never have before. When she stands, she leans, or shifts her weight to one side. Her hands are always somewhere; in a pocket, or crossed over her chest.

I have never seen her as she is in this moment.

She stands naked a step or two outside the bedroom, feet planted, body straight. Her hands hang at her sides, and her eyes are fixed on me, head level.

I'm not sure if she looks like a God, or an offering to one that's already accepted her fate.

What does that make me in either case?

"We're in dangerous territory," she says simply, without inflection or heaviness, and it's jarring.

I take a drag of my cigarette, a long one, and try to understand the reality I find myself in. "What do you mean?" I ask, because I simply can't remember how my brain works.

She cracks. It's hard to catch, and she recovers quickly, but I can see, beneath the surface that her composure isn't easy to keep, and I'm awed by how strong she is yet again. "You don't feel real to me," she says, in the same lifeless tone she began the conversation with.

How do you respond to that? Is there even a way? I know I flinch, but it's so delayed that the gesture is comical. I raise my cigarette to my lips, trying to stall for time, wishing I could run far away from the situation.

But I can't.

I think she senses my mental incapabilities and saves me the trouble of reaching for something to say, or even feel by speaking for me. "I'm trying to get over it, but it's hard."

Somewhere, I knew this conversation was coming, but I didn't know it would take so long.

"The thought of you and him; of him touching you…" she trails off and looks down, and I know that the cracks run deeper than I originally thought. "I'm trying to get us back. I just don't know how."

And suddenly, I know what I feel.

I am angry.

I am angry because she waited until now to tell me. I am angry that she has forced us both to live in this charade for the past few weeks.

Though, I realize there was a time when I was okay with that.

And I'm angry because if it's taken her so long to tell me this, what about the thing she hasn't told me?

I finish my cigarette and walk over to the ashtray on the bar, stubbing it out violently before turning back to face Emily on the other side of the room. "Were you even going to tell me?" I ask, setting my face.

"What are you talking about?" she asks, blinking.

She may look genuinely confused, but it's hard to tell anymore. I've forgotten which way is up, and which way is down. "Or were you just going to disappear one day, off to the other side of the world?" I feel like a train, having already started down the tracks and not being able to stop.

And forget about straying from the course.

I watch her carefully for a long time. I watch the confusion give way to recognition. But what comes after recognition isn't so easily named. Her eyes grow dark and heavy, but the left corner of her mouth curls up in a sick smirk, and I know I have never felt fear before this moment.

She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, and shakes her head softly, and I think she's just reached a decision she doesn't like. She sighs, and with a heavy look, turns and walks into the bedroom.

At first I just think she's given up on the conversation and is going back to bed. Or maybe that's what I hope. But my stomach drops when I see her start to get dress. "What are you doing?" I call, rushing into the room as she's pulling a shirt over her head.

She sighs and moves to the closet, not bothering to look at me, hair flying. "I can't do this," she says as she pulls out her duffel bag and starts tossing random articles of clothing into it, and it sounds far too easy for her to say.

It's my turn to voice her earlier question, even though I know the answer. "What are you talking about?"

She grabs the picture of her and Katie, stuffs it in her bag, and shoves past me, heading into the bathroom for a few minutes. "You," she says upon returning, gathering a few items from around the living room. "You and your complete and utter lack of trust."

"I do trust you," I try to tell her, but my voice sounds far away, even to me, and I know there's no way it can reach her.

"No, you don't," she says, leaning down and grabbing her guitar, the duffel already flung over her shoulder. She moves to the door before looking at me. "And I've never given you any reason to not," she says, and before I know it, she's gone.

And now I am lost.


	22. Epilogue

**Author's Notes**

_Okay, so I'm really sorry about the change in location, but bear with me. I understand that it's cheesy, and contrived, but I do not feel that I can do the current location justice. I have never even been to England, much less Bristol, and the only things I know are what I see on my television. With my insufficient knowledge, I do not believe that I can continue this story in its present location. I understand that my two main protagonists are still very English, but two is easier to deal with than the entire cast, which is also why I introduced the original characters that I did in this story. So again, I'm very sorry, but I hope you'll understand my reasons._

_Warnings: very short_

**Abnormally Attracted to Sin**

**Epilogue**

**By Persephone's Nautical Nun**

Nothing is real. Nothing is right. The world continues to turn, and the sun continues to rise, but every time it sets, I feel like it's the last time. Or that it should be, at least. The continuation of the general population's daily lives sickens me, and it takes all the self-control I have to keep from shouting in public, and at random strangers that they should be mourning, and that something beautiful has been lost.

Cook and Effy keep trying to make time rewind for me, back to a time before Emily, even if they're doing it separately. It's just that that time doesn't exist to go back to, because she was literally always there.

The simple fact is that I can't go back to who I was. Who I was is dead. I killed that person in order to become someone else, and now that that has been taken away, I don't know what's left.

I don't know who to be. Not that it matters, because I wouldn't know how to do it, anyway.

I hear it gets better, that every day I'll make a little more progress, get a little better, until one day I'll wake up, and everything will be fine, and I will have adjusted to a life without Emily. I'm not sure when this recovery process is supposed to start, but I know it hasn't yet, and I'm starting to think that everyone is full of shit.

Besides, I'm not entirely sure I want to adjust to a life without Emily.

I moved back in with my mother, and I don't regret it. I think that if I had stayed in that apartment, I would have died there. It offered me a sense of finality. I remember a time when I lived there without her. I guess I knew she would be coming back that time, and the this time was the end.

I try not to think about the last time I saw Emily. I try not to think about the night that I lost everything about myself. I remember that I stood very still for a very long time, that light was starting to come through the windows before I finally collapsed, and the tears that came wracked my body.

I'm staring at myself in the mirror, trying to recognize the person staring back at me, but she's a complete and utter stranger. I watch her as she brings a spliff to her mouth and inhales deeply. This is what I need, to numb myself. It makes the feeling of being stranded in the middle of the ocean a little easier to bear.

The door opens and Katie walks in. I note that she's darkened her hair in the past month, but I don't know why it's relevant. She staggers upon entering, clearly not prepared for the box of smoke my room is, and waves an arm in front of her face in a futile attempt to clear it away.

I smile. So much for the perfect entrance.

She composes herself and walks towards me, tossing an envelope in my general direction. "You're going on vacation," she says as I lean down to pick it up off the floor.

I recognize Emily's handwriting addressing the letter to Katie, and the tremor that goes through me is sickening. I look up at Katie, because I can't look at it anymore. "She could be anywhere," I say, offering the letter back to her.

"Look at the post mark, you idiot."

I glance down. "San Francisco," I say, and shrug. There's no return address. "So?"

Katie looks shocked. "So that's where she is. So go bring my sister back."

I am suddenly very tired. Being told what to do by Katie generally has that affect on me. "Why don't you go?" I ask, slumping back in my chair. It's a lost cause. Emily's gone, and she's not coming back.

Besides, if she wanted to talk to me, she would have written to me.

Katie crosses her arms over her chest and points her toe. "Do you really think that if I thought I had a remote possibility of bringing her back that I would even be standing here?" she asks, and I guess it makes sense.

"What about school?" I ask. It's weak, and I know it is, but grasping at straws is better than grasping at nothing.

"Well, I guess you're taking a term off, aren't you?" she sys hotly before scoffing and shaking her head. "Why are we even debating this?" she asks, mostly to herself.

"I don't know," I say softly, and I think I sound so pathetic that it extinguishes some of her fire.

"I'm buying your plane ticket tomorrow," she says with finality and I know there's no point in saying anything else. Without another word, she crosses the room and leaves me alone to get used to the idea. I know that I never will, even when I get there. For all intents and purposes, my life is about to stop.

Though, I guess it actually did that a month ago, so what does it really matter where I pass the time?

Looks like I'm going to California.


End file.
